


As I let you in

by nofeartina



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: 2-year anniversary fic, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blood, Even's sister is the queen, Eventual Smut, Fantasy, First Time, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Masturbation, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Royalty, aftermath of war, made-up historical times (just roll with it), mentions of war and violence (non-graphic), slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2019-11-06 11:21:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 51,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938754
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nofeartina/pseuds/nofeartina
Summary: Lord Isak Valtersen becomes a prince-consort.Or the one where Even is a prince and they enter into an arranged marriage in ye olden days.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe I’m finally posting this fic! I started writing it in January 2018 and have been adding to it occasionally ever since, so there have def been times where I thought it would never get finished. Luckily I have the best cheerleaders and betas in the world on my side, and without their massive help, this would never have made it this far. Thank you so much H and Immy. <3
> 
> This first chapter is posted today on my 2-year fic anniversary in the Skam fandom and what a ride it’s been. <3 The fic is all done, and after the new chapters will be posted every Monday. :)
> 
>  
> 
> EDIT: the fic is translated into Russian, you can find the translation on ficbook [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8136844/20646953). :)

There’s so much salt in the air. 

It shouldn’t be a surprise, he’s still on the sea, but he hates the way it gets into his eyes and hair, makes his skin itch. He used to love the ocean, used to spent long days on the beach, chasing the waves and building castles in the sand. 

Now it just reminds him of how much has changed. How much he’s changed.

But standing here on the deck, posture rigid, eyes forward, waiting to meet his future husband, makes him long for those days. Before duty and war.

As the walkway is lowered and the men are running around the ship getting it ready for him to depart, he fights the urge to pull at the high collar of his jacket. He’s not used to formal wear anymore, hasn’t had reason to wear it in a good while. Leathers this fitted aren’t really the best clothes for fighting and that’s all he’s been doing these last years.

A loud shout from one of the men makes the hair at his nape stand up and he fights the way his body flinches. He hates how affected he is now from these sudden loud noises, longs for the days when it wasn’t like that. Most of this journey by boat has been too quiet, though. He’s not used to that either. No cries, no crying, no having to be alert at all times. Isak is feeling jittery, can’t shake the panic constantly simmering under his skin.

It’s getting harder and harder to stand still, his posture growing more and more rigid by the second to keep him from pacing. And then he finally gets the cue that the walkway is ready for them.

And he’s off. 

He walks down the walkway assuredly, closely followed by his entourage. He keeps walking, even when he knows that protocol says that he should wait until he’s the last in line, but he doesn’t care. He just wants this over with.

The crowd of people who have come to meet him is big but oddly quiet. It’s not hard to see that his reputation has beaten him here. They all look at him with fear in their eyes. It annoys him to no end but makes him want to play the part.

He knows that after the Battle of the Borders he became something of a legend, having allegedly killed 200 men all by himself. That’s not quite what happened, but he’s heard some of the stories people tell each other. They’re ridiculous, very far from the truth, but Isak understands the power they hold for the people back home. That they have someone like him fighting at the front, fighting for them. He knows because he grew up hearing the same kind of stories of other great warriors.

He knows that they call him the Warlord, that more people know him as that than as Lord Isak Valtersen. Although he would prefer it to be the other way around.

And it seems that name has followed him here as he hears a small child whisper it in awe as he passes. He pretends he doesn’t notice, keeps his eyes on the small group of people straight ahead of him, where one of them is so tall, that he’s sure he must be the man who is his future husband. He doesn’t know much of him, but he knows that he’s tall. Jonas had told him that much. So Isak keeps his eyes on him as he walks towards him.

He’s beautiful.

Those are the first words that come to mind and once they’re there, they just don’t leave again. The hair, the way it’s styled in a manner that’s so different than what he’s used to in Greenmark, how his clothes fit his body, tight and bright in color, his big, blue eyes. His lips. Isak has never seen anything like him in his entire life.

They’re introduced by their councilors as they’re supposed to be, their names listed off along with their titles to show off their importance, and Isak endures it because he must. What he really wants to do is shake the hand of the man in front of him. Wants to touch him and feel his skin against his.

He stands impassive, doesn’t let it seem like the man’s beauty is affecting him, when in fact he’s all chaos inside. He’s used to not letting his body react to whatever’s going on inside him.

He’s sure that he must be a boring sight in comparison. His hair is too long, and his lips are small and the brown leather he’s wearing, as the custom is in Greenmark, is dull next to the prince and his delegation. He’s suddenly very self-aware, hopes that the knife scar he has on his neck is covered by his jacket, and he hates that he didn’t take the time to braid his hair more elaborately to look more presentable. He knows it’s curling, impossible to do anything with at this length, hair sticking out of the simple braid he wears now, and he’s never given his hair this much thought before.

Finally, the introductions are done and they bow to each other. Isak waits for the prince to speak, almost forgets himself and smiles at the deep timbre of his voice, when he does.

“Welcome to Bergway, Lord Valtersen. I am Even and I have been looking forward to your arrival.”

His eyes are bright and he looks at Isak as if he really wants to be there and it makes Isak feel a bit warm under his leathers. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him how the prince called himself by his first name, which is surely a breach of protocol, even in Bergway.

“Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you for having me.”

From the corner of his eye, he notices his councilor exhale in relief like he had expected Isak to say something wrong. But Isak has spent years at court before he went to war, he knows how to handle himself.

Prince Even smiles and then asks, “I hope your journey went well, Lord Valtersen?”

Isak nods, allows himself to smile a small smile back as he answers. “Yes, thank you, Your Highness. It was quite alright.”

Prince Even is looking at his lips, at the smile curling there, and Isak wants so desperately to look at Prince Even’s too, just to see how they look stretched into that kind of smile he’s wearing right now, but he holds himself back. There’s still too much at stake for him to let his guard down. 

“Shall we?” Prince Even asks and gestures to the carriages. “There’s a feast waiting for us.”

Isak gives a brisk nod and follows the prince and his entourage to the carriages standing to the side, and they’re soon spread out in them.

Driving through the city, Isak tries to pretend that he isn’t extremely curious to see what everything looks like. He’s been told tales all his life about this country, so wealthy that the people living here have never had a need they couldn’t meet. Isak can’t imagine what that must be like.

Being a lord at Dragonholm Castle, it’s not like he’s had to go to bed hungry but their lands are not amongst the wealthiest, even though his title is among the most prestigious. Although his parents and he have always tried to be fair to the people living on their lands, there certainly have been periods where his people have starved.

What he notices most are all the colors. The houses are painted in bright colors, as are the clothes the people are wearing, just like the prince’s. Banners are hanging outside each house, one more colorful than the next. Isak suspects this must be in his honor or in honor of the marriage. It’s a lovely day, the sun is shining, and it just seems to make all the colors so much brighter.

It’s almost grating on Isak’s eyes, he’s just not used to it. In Greenmark almost everybody wears earth colors. And at the front, there are certainly no bright colors either. It makes him feel out of place, makes him realize how alone he’s going to be in a week’s time when the wedding will be over.

Prince Even points out some buildings and landmarks to him as they pass, tells him a few stories about some squares and art they pass and Isak listens intensely. He likes how the prince talks to him, but everything is so overwhelming. He can’t believe that this will be his home, that this will be his husband.

“I hope you enjoy our food, Lord Valtersen. The chefs have been busy all day preparing a feast in your honor,” Prince Even says, still with that smile playing on his lips.

Isak smiles back, a small hesitant smile, can’t allow himself anything more yet, and replies. “I’m sure I will, Your Highness. I’m definitely hungry and very happy to be on dry land again.”

Prince Even smiles even wider at this, his eyes shining bright like the sun and Isak finds himself transfixed by it.

When they arrive, the queen and her husband are waiting at the top of a long set of stairs for them and Isak walks one step behind Prince Even as is proper as they start the ascend to her.  He keeps his eyes on the queen, bows to her as he’s introduced, and she welcomes him with just the right amount of warmth and regality as is becoming of her. It makes him at ease, that some things are as he expects them to be.

She’s beautiful as well, but, Isak quickly decides, not quite as beautiful as the prince. She’s dressed in various shades of blue, hair styled in another elaborate hairdo, lips red and eyes blue.

He quickly lowers his eyes and hopes nobody else can tell how out of place he feels here.

Once inside the castle, he’s shown to his room and when the doors close behind him, giving him some semblance of privacy before the servants come to help him clean up, he relaxes against the door and exhales roughly. He hates being so stiff and formal but recognizes the need for it. He slumps as he walks around the room, taking in the big bed covered in a massive red blanket, how it seems that his room generally follows the style of the rest of the city. Everything is just so bright.

He’s fiddling with a blue, round object he doesn’t quite understand when there’s a knock on the door. As he calls out a blond man enters.

“My Lord, if you please. I am Eskild, your valet, as we understand you did not bring your own. I am here to help you get ready for the feast.”

Isak stands up straight again, full rigid posture as he looks at the man. Puts on the façade that’s expected of him, knows the kind of effect he normally has on people when he does this.

“Yes, thank you,” he says, but Eskild comes towards him, looks him over and doesn’t seem to be affected by his posturing at all.

“What are you wearing?” Eskild mutters under his breath, but then his eyes fly up to Isak, mouth wide in what Isak is sure will be an apology, and for the first time Isak lets out a real smile.

“I know I look very different from the rest of the people here,” he says, trying to put Eskild at ease.

It does the trick because not just Eskild’s face lights up at the words, his entire body does, and he smiles back.

“I hope you have something more suitable in that trunk,” Eskild says, and it’s so unexpected for a stranger to talk like that to Isak it makes him feel like he’s known Eskild for a long time already and it makes him worry a little bit less.

Eskild gives him another glance over, touches Isak’s hair briefly with a sigh, and says, “Probably not.”

It startles a laugh out of Isak, surprising himself just as much as he seems to be surprising Eskild, but this feels like a good start.

\--||--

Isak is seated next to Prince Even at the feast, but it’s almost impossible to talk to him. They’re constantly interrupted by the entertainment or by other guests and people wanting to cheer them. He finds the food agreeable, but he doesn’t really enjoy the sweet red wine they seem to drink here, so he only sips it when he must.

He can’t help glancing at Prince Even. Somehow, it seems like his hair is even higher now than it was earlier, and he’s changed into green robes, more muted than those of the rest of the people at the party. Isak can’t help but wonder if it’s because of him.

Once in a while Prince Even glances back at him and his eyes light up every time he notices Isak looking and Isak can’t help but get affected by it. The prince certainly is agreeable to look at. Isak didn’t know he had a type before, but he seems to be exactly what Isak likes in a man, with the way his body is reacting to him. 

If he turns out to be less agreeable in person than in looks, at least there’s that.  

Isak’s stomach flutters with nerves at the prospect of being tied to this person, no matter how well they match. There’s nothing for it now, he has to bear whatever the future holds for him. So he tries to fold his face into a polite smile, tries to appear somewhat approachable, tries to put forward his best manners. He isn’t the child of a lord for nothing.

Later, Isak finds himself caught up in a conversation with a former general, eager to discuss the current state of the armies in Bergway. Isak listens politely, but he can’t help how the room is starting to feel overwhelming. All these people and all these noises. He’s not used to life at court anymore, after years at the front. He knows he can’t leave, that there’s no escaping this. But he longs for fresh air and some quiet. Just for a moment. 

It’s not until a new group of entertainers enters, using instruments that Isak’s never seen before that are so loud that Isak feels the room shrinking in on him, making it hard to breathe, that he finally makes his escape from the general.

He’s not sure how pleasantly he does it, but the general looks at him with understanding eyes that only serve to make Isak flush even more. He hates when people pity him. He politely pretends not to have noticed, bows and almost runs out onto the terrace through the open doors. He continues into the gardens, trying to find somewhere secluded where he can breathe through his discomfort.

After a short while where it’s getting harder and harder to breathe, he finds himself by a bench shrouded in darkness, almost closed in completely between some bushes. He falls down onto it, leans over his shaking legs and loosens the collar around his throat trying to make it easier for himself to breathe.

He sits there for a while, forces his heart to slow down and the heat of his body to recede. And when it’s slowly getting easier for him to breathe, he just stays. He knows he should go back, knows he has obligations, but he just can’t get himself to leave the calmness of the bench.

Until suddenly he hears voices close by.

At first he’s scrambling to get up, to straighten his clothes and his back, but then he recognizes one of the voices. It’s Prince Even. And he’s talking to what seems to be a woman, in hushed voices. Isak doesn’t have a good feeling about this, sneaks closer as silently as he can in order to be able to hear what they’re talking about. He’s still covered by the bush, and as he gets closer he starts hearing their voices more clearly.

“So am I just going to have to accept that you’re getting married to someone else?” 

It’s the woman speaking and she sounds angry. There’s a small pause that ends when Prince Even sighs.

“I’m sorry, Sonja. I always thought it was going to be you I was to marry. This is out of my hands, though.”

Isak hears the rustling of clothes and then she starts crying. Isak desperately wants to step closer, wants to see her, but he fights the desire. He’s safer where he is.

“We’ve been together for years, Even.”

“I know,” he hears Prince Even say. “I’m so sorry. I love you. I’ll never love him as I love you. You’re still my one true love, my beautiful girl.”

Isak freezes. He wasn’t really expecting a marriage of love, but it’s not until now he realizes just how much he had hoped for one. Hearing those words, that hope shatters inside him.

“He’s pretty, though,” she sniffles and Isak closes his eyes. Doesn’t want to hear the rest of this conversation, but Prince Even replies before he can leave.

“Not as pretty as you. Have you seen the clothes he wears? And his hair? He’ll never mean to me what you do.”

And once again Isak’s chest feels too tight, once again his newly settled collar feels too small around his neck. Like the small reprieve never happened. He quietly pulls back from the bush, sneaks away without them knowing that he overheard them. He walks briskly back to the castle, slips in through the open doors to the party and picks up one of the flutes of sweet wine to make it look like he’s been here all along.

A few moments after Prince Even comes back to the party, hair a little bit messier than it was before, lips a little bit redder and he searches the crowd and lights up when his eyes land on Isak. But this time it doesn’t make Isak happy to see him like that, doesn’t make his heart flutter. This time he fights the scowl threatening to break out and forces himself to give Prince Even a small, polite smile instead.

As Prince Even walks towards him, Isak notices a pretty blond girl slipping in through the doors unnoticed, hair braided and complex, clothes as bright as the rest of them. She must be the woman Prince Even was with and he can’t possibly see how he could ever compete with her. She’s stunning, looks regal and composed. The very picture of a royal companion.

Isak knows how to play the game, though. Goes through the motions for the rest of the night, performs his duty as a future husband to the prince and stands next to him as protocol calls for as the guests bid them farewell.

If the prince notices his declined interest, he doesn’t mention it or seem affected by it.

As Isak finally lies in bed later, he can already see his life stretching out in front of him, loveless and alone, stuck in a strange, foreign country, surrounded by duty. If this is his life, he’ll have to learn to settle for it. That is what he’s done so far and he’s sure that he’ll be able to do it once more.

He doesn’t really have any other choice.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm home sick from work and therefore you're getting this chapter a bit earlier today. :) 
> 
> I'm sorry to be posting right in the middle of all the new big bang fics, I hope you all will still find time to read this. Thank you once again to the powerful duo who helped me wrangle this mess into something readable, Immy and H. <3
> 
> And without further ado, here's chapter two. Enjoy.

The next days are a flurry of activity. Isak seems to be in meetings all the time, with advisers making him ready for his new role, with tutors teaching him Bergwergian manners and ways, tailors fitting him for a new, more appropriate, wardrobe as well as his wedding outfit, and then there are the excursions with Prince Even.

Isak doesn’t know how to talk to the prince. The words Prince Even spoke to Sonja at the party still play on Isak’s mind every time he looks at him, the way he had talked about Isak’s looks and their compatibility. It makes Isak even more tongue-tied and aware of how different he appears. So the prince does most of the talking when they’re together. But it’s superficial, much too polite, giving nothing away about him, about what kind of person he is or what really holds his interest. And it’s not enough to lessen Isak’s worries. He’s self-conscious to a degree he hasn’t been in years, worries about how out of place he must seem to Prince Even, with his accent, his manners, his hair, and clothes, and it’s hard to find common ground.

One afternoon finds them in the garden, which is raised so they have a pretty view of the city and everything is so peaceful here. So different from what Isak is used to.

“Are you not sleeping well?” Prince Even asks him, actually looks a bit concerned.

Isak is all too aware of how dark the circles under his eyes are by now. He hasn’t slept much since he arrived. He looks over the city, squints and tries to think of a polite way to tell Prince Even that he hasn’t. He wouldn’t want to offend him or the beds in the castle in any way.

In the end, he settles for a simple “No.”

Prince Even looks at him like he wants to ask and Isak decides to beat him to it. Maybe he really is tired of polite conversation. “I haven’t slept well since I got back from the war.”

“I hate war,” Prince Even says and Isak feels heat rise in him immediately.

He knows he shouldn’t react, that this is not the time or the place, but he’s been bottling up his emotions for so long now that he can’t keep them in anymore.

“That’s very easy for you to say,” he starts, feels how his anger rises by the second, finds it impossible to keep back his words, even if he at least manages to make them sound controlled. “You’re living a life where you’ll never have to raise a finger to get anything. But sometimes your way of life is threatened, or your family or your _king,_ and you have no option but to fight. You have no business saying you hate war when you’ve never had to fight in one.”

He regrets his outburst immediately but doesn’t want to apologize for it. Wants to storm off like a child, hide in his room until he’s settled again, until his temper has died down, but he can’t. He’s already done enough damage as it is.

Prince Even is staring at him open-mouthed and wide-eyed, so surprised that he’s apparently left speechless and Isak takes a few deep breaths before he apologizes.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness. Please forgive me, I shouldn’t have said that,” he starts but Prince Even interrupts him before he can say anymore.

“No, Lord Valtersen. _I’m_ sorry. You’re absolutely right. I have no business belittling what you had to go through. I won’t make that mistake again, I assure you.”

He sounds sincere, looks sincere, but Isak still feels like there are things left unsaid there. That if he just heard those words he would find them threatening, but Prince Even makes them seem not to be. It confuses him, makes him feel lost that it’s so hard to decipher what’s going on around him.

He once more finds himself wishing to be more charming, that he could say something that would make the tension between them disappear or at least lessen. But that’s never been Isak’s strength. Instead, he settles for nodding, but he has trouble looking Prince Even in the eye for the rest of the excursion and he’s happy when Prince Even suggests to cut it short.

As soon as Isak is finally alone in his room, he collapses onto his bed. He’s once again struck by how alone he is here, even with his small delegation still present. In only three days Jonas will arrive and then he’ll be married and everybody he knows, and who knows him, will go home. Leaving him behind.

He feels restless, his entire body vibrating with it. He’s not used to this idleness that appears to be his life now. He’s used to training every day, used to constant alertness, a far cry from the way people live their lives here, cushioned. It’s too… quiet, too complacent.

Isak has never felt more alone in his life.

\--||--

Two days before the wedding, the day before Jonas arrives, Isak has a meeting with the queen. It’s the first time he meets her alone, or as alone as one meets with a monarch. Not even Prince Even will be present.

When he enters her office, she’s sitting by a desk with a fierce-looking woman standing next to her. Isak has the impression that the queen is a no-nonsense kind of woman, the complete opposite of Prince Even who seems to be much more prone to antics, and his impression is confirmed when she almost immediately introduces the woman next to her as Commander Sana Bakkoush.

Isak nods at her rigidly, standing in his soldier pose, waits for her to set him at ease and she finally does with a nod towards the chair.

He’s not used to being in a foreign court. He’s spent a great part of his life at court in Greenmark with Jonas and as such he’s used to taking certain liberties. But he doesn’t know the queen well enough to do that, probably never will. And he doesn’t know the ways of the Bergwergian court well enough yet either to feel at ease here. He’s worried that he’s going to step out of line and inadvertently offend her and he won’t even recognize it.

But he’s distracted from his nerves as soon as Commander Bakkoush opens her mouth to speak.

“I’ve been told you are a soldier to reckon with,” she says and looks at him like she can’t believe her eyes.

He squints at her as he answers, “I suppose.”

“Hmm.” She crosses her arms and pinches her lips and he knows that she’s going to be a hassle to work with. Unless he can make her see his use.

“I have spent the last few years fighting in the war, I was there for the Battle of the Borders. I have trained my men into the most efficient and deadly unit in our army.” He keeps his voice even as he answers. “I am very qualified to train with your armies.”

And for the first time the queen speaks, interrupts him by saying, “ _Our_ armies, Lord Valtersen. It won’t be long until you’re married to my younger brother, and then you’ll be a Bergwergian and those armies will be yours as well.”

Her gaze is piercing, eyes similar in color to Prince Even’s. They might be what makes them seem most alike. He knows a challenge when he hears it, so he diverts his eyes and nods at her.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

She quickly cuts through the tension, tells Commander Bakkoush that he’ll start training with them after the wedding. And then she turns back to Isak.

“When will the army from Greenmark arrive?” she asks calmly.

“As Your Majesty knows, we’re in the middle of a war at the Southern borders. But as the treaty states the first battalions will arrive shortly after the wedding, and when the war is over, so will the following 5000 soldiers.” Isak had spent a good part of the journey here reading through the alliance treaty the two countries had signed, and now he’s glad for it.

She nods at him, seems pleased by his response like she was testing him and he passed that test.

“Welcome to the family, Lord Valtersen. I’m sure we’ll be having more of these talks in the future,” she says and smiles what appears to be a genuine smile as she glances at Commander Bakkoush who’s still standing there with her arms crossed.

And just like that, he’s dismissed.

Isak arrives at his chambers in time to do a fitting for his new clothes. There are people everywhere, and he’s put in the middle of the room, standing still as a flurry of activity goes on around him. People are measuring and sewing and Isak stands there and lets it all happen around him. Eskild stands to the side, supervising everything.

“How horrible is my hair after Bergwergian standards?” he asks out of the blue and Eskild looks at him with wide eyes.

“Well,” he starts and Isak understands it’s bad just with how Eskild draws out the e.

“Would it be possible to get someone to cut it?”

Eskild’s whole face lights up, “Oh yes, My Lord. I’ll get someone right now.”

Before he can leave, Isak adds, “I don’t want to have the same kind of high hair as Prince Even. It still needs to be practical.”

Eskild frowns when he says the word practical like he’s said something insulting to him. “Nobody can wear the same kind of hair as Prince Even. I’m sure we’ll find something that works for you, Sir.”

“And don’t call me My Lord. Just say Isak.”

The room quiets for a long moment, the servants looking at each other like they can’t believe what they’re hearing. But Isak enjoys the informal way Eskild talks to him, welcomes how it makes him feel a bit more at home here, at least in his own chambers, and he wants him to know it.

Eskild bows at him, but Isak doesn’t miss the grin he has on his face as he leaves to fetch someone to cut his hair.

A short while later Isak is seated on a chair, long strands of hair and curls falling down onto the floor at his feet. Eskild is going through his trunk of clothes, muttering to himself as he does.

“You actually wear this?” he asks with masked disdain, making Isak smile.

“Well, I haven’t in a while. I haven’t used them while I was at war.”

Eskild looks at him and blinks a few times. “Do you even fit into them anymore?” When Isak just shrugs in answer Eskild turns wide-eyed. “How many outfits do you have besides the three you’ve worn so far?”

Isak shrugs again. “I don’t know. I haven’t had time to try out my clothes. I left almost as soon as I came back from the front. My clothes were already packed for me when I arrived.” Eskild actually clutches his hand to his chest with an open mouth as Isak says that. “And besides, I’m getting new clothes now.”

Eskild stands up horrified. “But that’s only ten outfits! You can’t just have ten outfits, I thought you had more with you that you could use.” He turns around and is halfway through the door when Isak hears him mutters, “Ten outfits, this is preposterous, nobody can live with just ten…” and then Isak can’t hear what he’s saying anymore even though it’s clear he’s muttering all the way down the hall.

The hairdresser has stopped cutting Isak’s hair, is looking out the door after Eskild in wonder and Isak can’t help but smile. “Guess I shouldn’t tell him that I’ve only had two changes of clothes for the last few years, hm?”

The hairdresser smiles stiffly at him, but doesn’t answer back, diverts his eyes quickly from Isak’s and goes back to cutting his hair.

Isak sighs. Sometimes it’s boring having a reputation as a warlord.

\--||--

The next day he’s standing at the harbor with Prince Even beside him waiting for Jonas to arrive. He’s so excited to see him he can barely stand still.

It’s going to be so good to see someone he knows. To hear words spoken without that strange accent. To be able to talk to his best friend again.

Jonas comes into sight at the top of the walkway and he’s a sight for sore eyes. He looks so formal, regal with his blue muted colors, but he winks at Isak as he starts descending the walkway. Once Jonas is standing on dry land in front of Isak and the rest of the people there with them, it’s almost impossible for him to hold back. He wants to throw himself into Jonas’ arms, wants to breathe him in and he can’t take his eyes off him.

He has to wait for the formal introduction, though, hates that Prince Even gets to talk to him first, but he understands how protocol works. He doesn’t look away from Jonas once, can’t keep his smile in as King Jonas is introduced. He can’t believe it’s only been a week since he last saw him. It feels like more. It’s never enough time, it seems one of them is always leaving when they finally see each other. He doesn’t pay attention to what Prince Even and Jonas are saying, just wants all this formality over and done with so he can talk to Jonas again.

When it’s finally time for Jonas to greet Isak it’s just as formal as Isak expected it to be, but Jonas still smiles that warm smile at him and something in Isak’s chest softens. This is exactly what he needed.

Except, they don’t really get to be alone. Once they’re at the castle Jonas is in meetings most of the time and Isak is burning up with how much he wants to go see him. He barely fights the urge to wait outside the queen’s office so he’ll at least see Jonas as he leaves.

He can’t. He knows he can’t.

He understands that Jonas is first and foremost a king and that he’s here to settle an alliance. He just hadn’t quite expected not to be able to talk to him alone at all. They’re constantly kept apart even when the opportunity arises. Like at the small welcoming banquet the night before the wedding where Isak is seated what appears to be as far from Jonas as possible, next to Prince Even. Isak can barely focus on Prince Even all night. Just wants to talk to Jonas. Wants to find comfort in his familiarity. When Jonas finally retires from the banquet and heads to his chambers, they share a heated look, one that tells Isak that Jonas is about as happy about this as he is.

So Isak ends up going to bed without having talked to Jonas at all that day.

He lies awake for a long time. Tomorrow he’s going to marry Prince Even. Tomorrow he’s going to become a prince-consort. He should be excited, but he can’t help that gnawing feeling of helplessness in his chest. He wishes there was some other way for the alliance to work, some other solution to the poverty of his country, but he knows that this is the only way.

He has to do this.

His mind drifts to Prince Even, of how his hopes for a somewhat happy marriage has shattered. He hopes that they will grow to tolerate one another, maybe even become friends with time. It seems that’s all he can hope for now.

He’s much more nervous about tomorrow than he would like to be. If only he’d had a chance to talk to Jonas, to hear his voice and just be with him, maybe his nerves would have settled some.

Isak tosses and turns until he falls into a restless sleep, much too late for the kind of day he’s about to have.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this one was a bit short-ish, but big things are happening in the next chapter. ;)
> 
> By popular demand I'm posting a little teaser for the next chapter on my blog on Fridays if you're interested. Next chapter will be up Monday! :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I have to thank Immy and H for helping me with this and making it so much better. You guys ROCK. <3
> 
> And also a big thank you to all of you for reading and commenting and kudos'ing. You're all amazing. <3
> 
> Enjoy! :)

Isak is standing impassively with his arms out, just letting the servants and Eskild do their job. He’s being pulled at from all sides, somebody helping him into his uniform, somebody doing his hair, Eskild cursing under his breath about the bags under his eyes but Isak doesn’t care. He’s so nervous, he knows he’s sweating and his eyes are wide, but those are the only things giving him away. There’s a mantra of _I’ll survive this too_ running through his head and he feels so stupid for having all these nerves. He’s been through war and survived it, he shouldn’t be scared of _this_. Prince Even is just a man, he’s dealt with worse.

But he is scared. He really is.

He’s scared of being left here alone, of how his life here will turn out. He feels so isolated already, constantly being kept in check, not getting to see Jonas or go train with the army. He’s chock-full of nervous energy that he knows a good session with the sword would get out of him.

He tries to keep himself in check, tries to unclench his jaw and lower his shoulders when they start to tense up and Eskild keeps throwing him these glances like he knows. Mostly Isak just wants to be alone. Desperately wants everybody to just leave him alone for two seconds, so he can breathe and shake the nerves out of his body and compose himself. But he knows that he won’t be alone for the rest of the day. Or the night for that matter.

His mind drifts to the wedding night and he wishes it hadn’t.

Isak closes his eyes to that horrible imagery playing before his eyes, the humiliation of getting undressed by Prince Even, of showing him his body with all its scars and marks, seeing him look at him with disgust. Of bedding him while they both stay soft, while Prince Even looks away not meeting Isak’s eyes. Isak can’t imagine anything worse.

He swallows hard, can’t help the clenched jaw and tense shoulders anymore and the way his hands are starting to shake.

Just when he’s about to push everybody around him away, just when it’s getting to be unbearable to just stand there and think about what’s about to happen, the door opens. Isak and everybody in the room look towards it and Isak smiles immediately when he sees Jonas there.

“I hear that somebody’s getting married in here?” he asks and smiles that big Jonas smile that makes Isak feel at ease immediately.

As Jonas steps inside, Isak looks at Eskild quickly in a way that Eskild thankfully gets. He starts clearing the room of people and in a matter of minutes Jonas and Isak are alone.

The second the door shuts Jonas closes the distance between them and then Isak is wrapped in his arms.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Jonas says into Isak’s shoulder and Isak wants to cry. He can’t believe it himself.

“My king asked me to,” he answers and hopes that Jonas won’t notice how wobbly his voice is.

If he does, Jonas doesn’t show it. He laughs wetly, breaking the tension, and then Jonas squeezes him hard and starts to pull back. He keeps his hands on Isak’s arms and looks him up and down.

“What have you done to your hair?” is the first thing he asks and Isak just barely opens his mouth to answer before Jonas just continues, “And what the hell are you even wearing?”

Isak looks down at himself, notices the sky blue sachet wrapped over his shoulder across his torso. It’s the color he’s seen in the banners, so he knows it’s to show his allegiance to his new country, but this is the first time he’s wearing it. The first time Jonas will see him belonging to another kingdom.

“That’s the wrong color, my friend,” Jonas says, voice full of emotion, and runs his hand down Isak’s shoulder over the ribbon crossing his chest. It gives Isak some comfort, makes him smile and it feels like he’s smiled more in the last five minutes than he has this entire last week.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Isak says in a low voice. Jonas smiles back at him and Isak knows that his nerves are showing.

“Me too. Me too, Isak.”

He doesn’t say _it’ll be alright_ or _thank you for doing this_. Isak knows he wouldn’t be able to stand hearing any of those words right now, and maybe Jonas knows that. He’s always been good at reading Isak. It’s amazing how just having Jonas here helps. And maybe that’s enough, maybe he can settle for this small moment of contentment.

It’s all he can get so he’ll have to.

\--||--

The wedding is a mess.

Isak is so nervous he doesn’t even feel present during most of it. He walks down the aisle in a blur, watches Prince Even wait for him there at the altar with his high hair and a bright green uniform. He looks pretty, he always does, but he also looks so unattainable that Isak wants to turn around and run out of there. It makes him almost wish to be back at the front; at least there he had the option of fighting his way out, of doing _something_ . But Isak keeps reminding himself what’s at stake, why he’s doing this, and it doesn’t make it easier, but it gets him to the end of the aisle. He stands there, shoulder to shoulder with Prince Even and says _I do_ in all the right places. Repeats the words of promise after the archbishop, barely listens when Prince Even does the same.

And then he’s married.

He goes through the motions at the banquet, sips his wine when he’s supposed to, eats small bites of the food placed in front of him. But he doesn’t really taste it or pay attention to what’s going on around him. Everything is muted like he’s in a daze. Once in a while Jonas’ laugh reaches through to him, makes him turn his head in his direction and makes his resolve settle. This is why he’s doing it. For his country and his king.

He just has to keep telling himself that.

He even dances with Prince Even once the dinner is over even though the music is unfamiliar and everything is just wrong. He knows he’s not breathing right but he can’t help it, it’s like his lungs aren’t big enough to hold all the air he needs.

Prince Even looks at him during the dance with a frown on his face. He keeps trying to catch Isak’s eye, but Isak can’t return his gaze. Doesn’t want to see what’s going on behind Prince Even’s eyes, if he’s displeased by how Isak’s acting, if he’s disgusted or unhappy or sad. How stiff and fake that smile surely must be on his face.

Isak just can’t face that right now, is constantly on the verge of being crushed by the knowledge of all the misery and loneliness he has lying before him as his future. But he plasters on something resembling a smile and soldiers through it. Because he has to, what else can he do?

It’s working until the doors to the terrace open and all the guests pour out into the gardens. Isak follows hesitantly, isn’t quite sure what’s supposed to happen now, but he stays close to the doors.

The first loud explosion reverberates through Isak, makes his nerves fire and throws him into a state of panic. Everyone around him is cheering while Isak stops breathing.

Fireworks. They’re doing fireworks to celebrate the marriage.

For Isak, this is the worst way to possibly celebrate anything. He feels like he’s dying. His mind is thrust back into the war, suddenly he’s scared and cold and his heart is beating through his chest and he needs to get away.

There isn’t enough air in the world for his lungs right now.

Somebody pulls him away, just grabs hold of his shoulder and pulls him back into the dining hall again, doesn’t let go of him even once they’re inside. Just keeps pulling him aside and Isak follows listlessly. He hears them talking but he can’t hear any words over the sound of blood pulsing in his ears. He’s starting to hyperventilate, starting to break down when he hears a door close and then the explosions are far away, almost unnoticeable.

A pair of hands find his cheeks, thumbs gently rubbing at the tears unwillingly falling from his eyes and finally Isak looks up to find Jonas standing in front of him.

“Breathe, Isak, breathe,” he says, takes Isak’s hand and puts it on his chest. “Feel my breath, match it with yours.”

And Isak concentrates on that, on breathing in sync with Jonas, lets Jonas’ calmness slowly seep into him, enough that he starts making sense. Jonas is saying, “I’ve got you, you’re safe,” and it makes Isak want to cry all over again.

Jonas has a tight grip on his neck, pulls him in so their foreheads are against each other and Isak closes his eyes and lets himself be comforted. Feeling Jonas’ chest rise and fall under his hand and his breaths on his face reminds him to breathe, gives him a rhythm to follow. For the first time all night he feels how his heartbeat starts to settle, how his mind stops churning and the panic starts to recede. He’s always been safe with Jonas.

They stand like that for a while, how long he’s not sure.

He just knows that it’s long enough for his heartbeat to almost have returned to normal, for his tears to have dried up and his sweat not to make him feel cold anymore. He’s missed this, he’s missed having Jonas nearby. It doesn’t matter how much time passes between them seeing each other, they always do this. Find their way back to each other easily, like coming home. He lets himself forget about the mess he’s in, the marriage and where he is, just focuses on Jonas’ breathing and how steady he feels against him.

Until the door bangs open and Prince Even storms in.

“What’s going on here?” he asks and the tone of his voice is different from what Isak has ever heard from him before. There’s definitely anger there, confusion.

Jonas and Isak rip apart, but Jonas keeps a hand on Isak, grounding him and Isak blinks at the sudden interruption, his mind still stuck on the panic he just went through.

“I am comforting a friend, Prince Even,” Jonas calmly replies.

“You are comforting my husband, King Jonas,” Prince Even says and if Isak were more himself he would smile at how he manages to make that sound polite, but threatening. That takes skill.

Jonas tenses against his side. Isak knows that Jonas heard the barely hidden threat as well and he doesn’t want Jonas to accidentally say something that will threaten the alliance so he jumps in before Jonas can get a word in.

“I had to get away from…” Isak starts but then swallows down the rest of the words, not comfortable with any sort of display of weakness in front of Prince Even. Especially not while he’s angry like this. “I’m sorry, Prince Even. This was entirely my fault.”

Prince Even tears his eyes away from Jonas, looks at Isak instead and his eyes flit over his face, probably taking in the redness of his eyes.

“Why do you need comforting?” Prince Even says, his voice still hard and Isak almost recoils from it. Years of holding back is the only thing making him stand still.

He shifts on his feet though, the lingering panic coming out as restlessness, and Jonas’ grip on him tightens briefly like he knows what Isak is doing. Like he’s trying to reassure him and Isak is so goddamn grateful for it. It gives him his voice back, makes him able to give some sort of answer.

“I don’t enjoy fireworks.”

Prince Even frowns, like that’s the most preposterous thing he’s ever heard. And Isak once again is reminded how this is a nation of people used to peace. How Prince Even has never been near a battle.

“You don’t enjoy fireworks?” Prince Even repeats incredulously, and this time Jonas replies before Isak can.

“Isak just got back from war, of course he doesn’t enjoy fireworks.”

Prince Even’s face hardens as his eyes turn from Isak to Jonas at his words.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, still sounding polite, but it’s clear that Prince Even’s angry. He holds out his hand to Isak but keeps his eyes on Jonas. “Come on, _husband_ , let’s get back to the party.”

Isak feels caught. He wants to stay here with Jonas, breathe in his air and his familiarity, his comfort, but he understands how that’s not really an option anymore. He can’t quite understand why Prince Even is acting like this when he’s made it so clear that he isn’t really interested in Isak. The only thing that comes to mind is that Prince Even somehow feels like Isak is his possession now. That he’s his to decide over.

Isak doesn’t like it, can’t stand the thought. It makes him want to stay here with Jonas even more. But he has no choice.

Isak takes a step away from Jonas to take Prince Even’s hand, deliberately doesn’t look back at Jonas as he lets Prince Even lead him out into the big hall with all the other guests. Only now it feels so much worse than it did before. It feels like he’s being paraded around like a prize, like something tamed by Prince Even.

And there’s nothing Isak can do about it. This is his life now.

He doesn’t get a moment to himself for the rest of the night. Prince Even is constantly around him, introducing him to new people and Isak stoically goes through the motions, even though he feels so exhausted that he can barely stand on his feet.

Because he knows he’s expected to.

\--||--

He’s in Prince Even’s bedroom standing in his white nightshirt, long enough to reach down to his knees. He’s so tired, the day really catching up to him, but he knows there’ll be no sleep for him for a good while yet.

He’s at the part of the wedding that’s filled him with the most dread.

He’s cold and uncomfortable and doesn’t quite know where to look. Prince Even is standing on the other side of the bed in a similar nightshirt, fabric almost thin enough that Isak can see the dark patch of hair at his groin and he can’t look at that.

He’s not sure what’s expected of him, how they’re going to make this work and his heart is beating hard in his chest, making him breathe a bit too fast.

“I’m sorry for this,” Prince Even says in a low voice, eyes full of compassion. “But… we have to do something, the servants will be looking for evidence of our consummation tomorrow.”

He doesn’t have to say how servants gossip, or how that gossip tends to reach the ears of those higher-ups interested in these sorts of things. Especially concerning something like this.

Isak swallows hard, he’s so nervous he’s not sure he’ll ever be hard again. No matter how easy his new husband is on the eyes, his behavior so far hasn’t exactly endeared him to Isak. Or made him feel safe to be doing this with him. Isak hasn’t been in a sexual situation for a while. He’s not quite sure how long it’s been, but these last months at war have been busy and difficult, with him spending every waking moment strategizing and contemplating their next move. Fighting and surviving. There wasn’t room or energy to do anything but that.

He’s not sure what to expect, but he’s definitely surprised when Prince Even keeps that compassion and concern on his face as he says, “I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do. You don’t even have to touch me.” He looks at the bed briefly and then back at Isak who flushes at what Prince Even’s suggesting. “Maybe we could just sit with our backs to each other and... do it ourselves? Nobody will have to know.”

Isak hesitates for a few seconds, waiting for Prince Even to add something, like there’s a catch to what he’s saying. But Prince Even keeps quiet, and finally, Isak nods. He follows Prince Even’s lead, follows him onto the bed and sits down with his back turned to him. They both close the curtains behind them, and suddenly it feels a bit more private, hidden inside this small shelter together.

He can feel heat emanating from him through his back, but they’re not sitting close enough to actually touch. Isak knows that if he leaned back they would, but he sits there, ramrod straight, tense, waiting for Prince Even to make the next move.

It takes a while, seconds tick by with them just sitting there waiting and Isak can hear how shaky Prince Even’s breathing. The room is quiet, no sounds getting in from the outside, only the crackle of the fireplace breaking the silence occasionally and it’s growing strained.

Finally, after long tense seconds, Isak hears the rustle of fabric behind him, the sound of skin on skin and he swallows hard. He slowly starts to pull up his own nightshirt, exposing more and more of his legs to the coldness of the room. His ears are acutely attuned to every sound Prince Even is making. He can make out the slide of his hand on his dick, how it’s not really fast but it seems like he’s getting a good rhythm going and his breath is starting to become faster. The small sounds spilling over his lips coupled with the crude sound of his hand working his dick is starting to affect Isak, is slowly making him hard as well and he tentatively wraps his hand around his dick.

At first, he just strokes to get himself fully hard. It’s awkward and he’s very aware of every noise his movements produce. The bed is moving under him, small rhythmic jumps that tell him exactly what Prince Even is doing behind him.

Prince Even sighs shakingly and then moves, a movement that brings their backs into contact briefly and they both fly apart.

“Sorry,” Prince Even mutters, voice lower than normal.

Isak doesn’t say anything back, just starts up again, hand moving over his dick. This is probably the least arousing situation he’s ever been in, and he’s barely maintaining his erection. He’s not sure he’ll even be able to come like this. But he wants it to be over, needs it to be over.

He closes his eyes and tries to think stimulating thoughts. It takes a few long seconds before he can think of something other than how awkward this is, his mind slowly filling with images he normally uses for this. Hard bodies, small nipples, muscled thighs. The ripe bitter taste of dick, memories of the occasions the opportunity arose and there had been time for that kind of indulgence.

It makes it easier to keep his erection.

Prince Even makes a sound then, something dangerously close to a moan, and Isak tightens his grip around his dick. Can’t help but go a bit faster.

And slowly the images behind his eyelids change, turn into high hair, pretty cheekbones and big lips. He starts seeing hands with long fingers, sees lips stretching into a dirty smile, sees half-lidded eyes looking back at him. He wonders if he would feel hot against him, if his skin is as soft to the touch as it appears to be. If he has hair on his chest and how that would feel against the palm of his hand. He pictures cheeks hollowing, pictures him looking up at him with those big, blue eyes and Isak feels himself getting closer with every image flashing behind his eyes.

Isak bites his lips against the sounds threatening to spill out, his entire body feeling hot now and he’s much more into this than he thought he would be, but he can’t deny his body’s attraction to Prince Even.

He doesn’t know how lost he gets in these fantasies, but suddenly he hears Prince Even come behind him, hears him make muffled sounds that pull Isak’s balls up tight. He works himself faster, pushes himself towards his orgasm and when the smell of Prince Even’s release hits him, he’s coming. He can’t keep in all the sounds, hears Prince Even’s breath catch as he moans low, before he catches every other sound with a bite of his tongue. He paints the nightshirt and the bed with seed as he knows he has to make a mess of it, has to make a show to make sure that nobody will be talking about how they’re not doing their duty in bed.

When he’s done, he sits there panting, and it’s not until now he realizes how they’re leaning against each other. They’re sitting close, so close that Isak feels every breath Prince Even takes and how he’s still shaking from the orgasm and somehow, that just makes Isak feel awkward all over again.

He still has his hand around his dick, all covered in his seed, still coming down from the orgasm. But that feeling is slowly getting replaced by how weird this is, the fact that he just did this with a complete stranger who is his _husband_.

He knows that he should feel relieved that he doesn’t have to do more than this, but instead his stomach starts churning with how uncomfortable even doing this makes him feel. But he knows that he better get used to that feeling. This is probably the best case scenario for him as it is. But it still makes him sad. That this is all he gets, that this is how it’s going to be.

He feels Prince Even move behind him, hears the rustle of clothes as he starts to move away from Isak and gets up to go to the wash basin. Isak rushes to cover himself back up and slowly gets out of bed too. Stands there next to it awkwardly and waits for Prince Even to wash his hands clean.

“Leave it on the bed and your nightshirt, they’ll be looking for that tomorrow,” Prince Even says like it’s no big deal.

Isak swallows down the feeling Prince Even’s tone of voice leaves in him, hates himself for not being more assertive but he’s so out of his depth here he just doesn’t know what to do. Give him a battlefield and a sword any time of the day, and he’ll command it like nothing else. This just makes him feel useless.

As he stands there and waits for his turn to the wash basin he wonders if this is how it’s going to be from now on. Him standing behind Prince Even, waiting for him to take the lead and show him what to do.

He hopes not. But he suspects it is. That this is what Prince Even wants from him.

Isak swallows down the feeling of hopelessness and how alone he feels, how he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used this new role. But he’ll hold his tongue and fight his instincts to lead. He’ll just have to remind himself, over and over if he must, that he’s not in this for himself. There are so many other things at stake and it’s his responsibility that the alliance holds.

So he’ll do his duty. Bite his tongue and be what Prince Even wants him to be.

Regardless of how that makes him feel.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please don't hate me or Even, I promise there's reason to the madness. hahah <3
> 
> I've started posting Friday teasers from the next chapter on my blog, so if you're interested in that, please come join me! :) See you next Monday! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this early because I'm going to see TROYE SIVAN tonight (very exciteeeeed) so I won't have time to post later. I'm sure you won't mind too much. ;)
> 
> As always, thank you H and Immy for all your help with this chapter! <3
> 
> Enjoy. :)

Isak wakes up the next morning to the sounds of a servant rekindling the fire in the fireplace and even though she’s quiet about it it doesn’t take much to wake him up.

He’s surprised that he’s slept at all. He can’t remember the last time he slept this long. His body feels heavy, but in a good way, and when he rolls over on his back he almost rolls straight into Prince Even.

He’s still sleeping, lost in his dreams, and Isak can’t look away. He looks so peaceful. Isak lets himself look at his pretty long lashes and his flushed, sleep-soft cheeks and those lips. All that prettiness in one person lying next to him, and it feels so far out of his reach.

He feels that hole inside of him grow and he needs to get out of the bed, needs to do _something_. Still, he waits until the servant is done and has left before he gets up. He slowly, quietly, pushes the curtains on the bed aside and steps onto the cold floor. He pulls on the clothes from last night and sneaks out the door like he’s trying to hide where he’s been. He knows he should walk proudly back to his chambers. He shouldn’t be ashamed, he’s the prince-consort now, but he’s still not quite sure what to think of what happened between them.

His room is empty when he enters, fire dying in the fireplace. He doesn’t wait for Eskild, quickly changes clothes himself. He escapes the room, lets his feet lead him to the stables and spends the rest of the morning on a horse, riding over the beautiful hills surrounding the city. He revels in how it makes his body feel alive again as the blood rushes through his veins.

It’s almost enough to make him forget the predicament he’s in.

\--||--

When he gets back, he’s barely out of the stables before he bumps into Prince Even, almost like he’s been waiting for him.

“Where have you been?” he asks while looking Isak up and down. He appears wide-eyed and almost frantic.

It brings all that displeasure Isak’s been stewing in back to the surface, an impotent anger that he has no release for, that destroys the moment of peace he just had while riding. How Prince Even apparently already feels so possessive over him that he’s not even allowed to go out on his own.

“I was just riding.”

He tries to keep his voice smooth, tries not to let Prince Even in on his anger.

Prince Even nods, finally looks him in the eyes like he’s satisfied he’s in one piece.

“I don’t want you to do it alone anymore, okay?”

And Isak has had enough, despite knowing better, despite how good he normally is at keeping in his emotions, this finally makes Isak react.

“I am not your property,” he whispers angrily, spitting out each word like they taste bad in his mouth, although he still tries to make sure that nobody will be able to hear him except Prince Even. He’s standing at his full height, knows he’s not quite as tall as Prince Even, but he’s certainly broader, uses it to his advantage.

Prince Even takes a step back, puts out his hands.

“No, that’s not--” he starts and swallows hard but keeps the eye contact with Isak. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I can take care of myself,” Isak says as he turns to leave. He can’t deal with Prince Even like this or his possessiveness. It adds to the hole inside of him that there’s really nothing he can do to keep Prince Even from behaving as he does.

That doesn’t mean he can’t fight it.

\--||--

Eskild dresses him in time for the goodbye lunch for Jonas. He grumbles about Isak slipping out this morning before he could get his hands on him and Isak lets him. Doesn’t have the fight in him anymore for one more confrontation. And although he will never admit it, Eskild’s care for him feels wanted.

The lunch for Jonas is thankfully just a small one. Everybody is tired and Isak can’t stop looking at Jonas, although he tries to be subtle about it. He doesn’t want to put Jonas or Prince Even on the spot again. But his chest is tight, because he knows that this is the last time in a very long time that he’ll get to see Jonas. It probably won’t be until Jonas’ wedding to Princess Eva, and nobody is really sure when that’s going to be. It depends on when the war will be over.

After, when they’re all saying goodbye, Isak holds Jonas’ hand for a few moments longer than he should. He looks him in the eyes, has so many things he wants to say but can’t, so instead, he settles for hoping that Jonas sees it in his eyes.

“Keep me updated on the war, Your Majesty,” he says and bows his head like he’s supposed to.

Jonas smiles at him. “Of course, my friend. Take care of yourself, Isak.”

Isak watches him walk up the walkway to the ship, watches him board and he turns for a hot second to look at Isak, eyes unreadable from the distance.

And then he’s gone.

Isak tries to pretend that he isn’t devastated by it. It’s harder saying goodbye to Jonas this time around than it’s ever been. He’s always known he was going to come home to him if he were to survive the war, but that’s not the case anymore. He lets himself stare after the ship as it sails away, gives himself this short moment to feel sad. He knows it won’t do him any good to dwell on it. Not for his or Jonas’ sake. So he does his best to push those feelings down.

Like he’s done so many times before.

\--||--

He’s barely made it back to the castle before he leaves the silence of his room to find something to do. He’s so restless, not used to this much downtime. He needs to spend his energy doing something.

He walks around the castle, lets himself get a bit lost, lets his feet decide the route. And before he knows it, he’s standing on the fields behind the castle where he finds the soldiers training with Commander Bakkoush. He stands back and just observes. Wants to see how she’s doing before he makes himself known.

He’s pleased to find that she isn’t as bad as he feared. On the contrary, she’s quite a good fighter and he immediately notices how the soldiers listen to her and respect her. In his experience, that’s always a good sign.

But he can’t help but notice that she’s very technical in her approach. It makes it obvious that she’s never met war, has never had to fight dirty to not get that sword planted in her gut.

Eventually, he walks over to her as she supervises some of her soldiers fighting.

“So you finally got tired of just watching us?” she asks, arms crossed, not even looking at him.

He stands next to her, focusing on the training soldiers as well. Doesn’t answer what is clearly a jab at him, like she’s trying out how easy it is to rile him up. Isak can be very patient when he needs to be. And he can tell that this is one of those times where he needs to be.

“Why are you making them train with wooden swords?” he asks curiously, but politely.

“So they don’t hurt each other,” she says like it’s obvious and Isak understands he has to tread carefully with her. She’s not going to be easy to win over and he definitely isn’t going to do it with force.

“Why are they fighting two on two?” he asks again, makes sure that his voice stays polite and interested and not judging.

She finally turns to him and squints her eyes. “What’s going on?” she asks, and he likes that she just cuts to the chase like that.

“Sorry,” he starts and uncrosses his arms. “I’m not here to criticize you, I’m here to train with you.” He points out at the army. “I won’t take away your command, that’s not why I’m here.”

She keeps looking at him and he feels like she’s weighing him, like she’s trying to figure out how truthful he is. After a few long moments, she nods sternly and turns back to the soldiers.

“I guess you could stick around for a bit. Let’s see how helpful you can be.”

And Isak turns back to the soldiers again and thinks of all the improvements he could make if he were allowed. But he can’t, at least not yet. He doesn’t want to seem like he’s rail-rolling the commander while doing it.

He knows the first Greenmarkian battalion will show up soon and in order for the two armies not to clash completely he’ll have to find a way to work with her.

He spends most of the day with the soldiers, walking amongst them, introducing himself and getting to know them. He needs for them to think of him as human if he’s to make any sort of difference and although he’s sure that his reputation alone will make that hard for him and his new title of prince-consort isn’t helpful either, his experience tells him that the more time he spends with them, the easier it becomes for them to be around him.

When he finally returns to the castle he feels invigorated. He walks with a bounce in his step and even allows himself to keep the small smile on his face. He knows that he’s going to enjoy training with them, and even though it’s going to be a fight not stepping on Commander Bakkoush’s toes, he’s quite looking forward to the challenge she poses as well.

He runs up the first set of stairs, is already turning to run up the next when he notices Prince Even standing on the ledge on top of the stairs. He looks calm and composed, with his hands behind him. He looks like he’s been waiting for Isak.

Isak’s mood sours immediately in anticipation of all the questions he suspects will come now. He’s already trying to calm himself, tries to push down the anger so he can find a way to politely say to Prince Even that he was just doing his job when he surprises him.

“I wanted to see if you were free to eat dinner with me.”

Isak stops, stuck with his foot on the first stair and he isn’t quite fast enough to hide his surprise. Prince Even seems to pretend not to notice and just continues on.

“I know you’re busy with the army and I’m sure that Sana isn’t making it easy for you,” he smiles at this and Isak tentatively smiles back. “But I hoped that maybe I could persuade you to take a small break for food?”

Isak breaks eye contact with Prince Even, starts walking up the stairs so he doesn’t have to keep looking up at him. He doesn’t speak before he’s standing on the ledge next to Prince Even, but he knows his posture is rigid. He wants to say yes, wants to eat with Prince Even, suspects this to be an olive branch, but he still has to know, has to push.

“And if I say no?”

Prince Even’s eyes are so bright that Isak almost can’t stand them on him, but he doesn’t waver, doesn’t take his eyes off Isak as color breaks out over his cheeks. Isak must admit, it’s very becoming on him. And the small smile that breaks out over Prince Even’s face is even more becoming on him.

“Then we don’t eat dinner together.”

Isak can’t help but squint at him, tries to figure out if he’s is telling the truth.

“Even if I’m not going back to the army? Even if I’m just eating alone?”

Prince Even’s smile falters, he pauses with his eyes still on Isak and then answers in a low voice, “Even then.”

Isak stands there, body still rigid, still a bit on edge trying to decide whether he wants to give in. But this is his husband. It doesn’t matter how petty he wants to be, how much he wants to say no just out of spite, he has to live with this man for the rest of his life. Might as well get to know him.

He nods, once. Prince Even’s smile breaks out again but Isak doesn’t return it. Doesn’t feel comfortable to, not yet.

It seems to sober Prince Even up a bit, even seems to fluster him.

“You can change into something more… appropriate,” he says looking down at Isak’s white shirt that may be a little too open around the neck for how they wear them here, and Isak fights the urge to pull the edges of the shirt together, to hide himself from Prince Even’s eyes. “I’ll wait for you in my chambers.”

Isak nods and watches Prince Even turn around and walk down the hallway. Isak stands there until he can’t see him anymore, and then he turns around and walks in the other direction towards his own chambers.

Thankfully Eskild is already there when he opens the door. He’s stoking the fire, making sure that the room stays warm, but he straightens when he sees Isak enter and bows his head respectfully.

“I need to get dressed for dinner,” Isak says.

“Certainly,” Eskild answers, heads to his wardrobe and searches through it.  “Is it a special occasion?”

Isak pulls his shirt over his head, trying to hide the slight flush on his cheeks. “The prince asked me to dine with him.”

“Oh,” Eskild says excitedly. His head disappears inside the wardrobe and Isak watches him pick out clothes for him as he moves to the wash basin and washes up as thoroughly and quickly as possible.

Isak can’t help but once again think of what he heard on that first night, so many questions filling his mind and nowhere to ask them. But maybe Eskild knows something. He desperately wants to ask, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to seem too transparent doing it. He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something but then decides against it. and it’s not until Eskild starts walking towards him, arms full of tunics that he speaks. He’s been going over this so many times he needs to _know_ instead of speculating.

“Was the prince with someone before I married him?”

Eskild pauses, but only minutely. Isak wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t paying attention. Eskild puts the clothes down only to pick up a blue tunic from the stack and looks between it and Isak like he’s trying to see whether it will do.

“Yes. He was with Sonja Grandahl before you.” Eskild puts down the blue tunic and picks up another, a yellow one that has Isak frowning. “She’s from one of the richest families in the country.”

He quickly puts down the yellow tunic and picks up a green one instead.

“Son-ja,” Isak says with a low voice, tasting the name on his tongue, and he can’t meet Eskild’s eyes when he looks at him briefly.

Seemingly happy with his choice he starts dressing Isak with the green tunic and as he does he says, “You have nothing to worry about. Prince Even seems quite taken with you.”

Isak still can’t meet his eyes, finds the sleeves of his new tunic much too interesting all of a sudden and doesn’t answer.

He finds that hard to believe, but he doesn’t tell Eskild that. And he can’t get himself to ask any more questions either, so he lets Eskild continue dressing him in silence.

\--||--

He’s all nerves as the door opens to Prince Even’s chambers, but he clasps his hands behind his back and straightens like the soldier he is. And it makes him feel more at ease, more like himself to pull up that front to Prince Even.

The fireplace is crackling behind Prince Even, he’s all smiles and bright colors, looking so at home and at ease that it makes Isak feel like anything but.

He’s standing in front of a table set with vast amounts of food, so beautifully arranged that Isak’s mouth waters immediately. Makes him realize how hungry he is after a full day of training and being outdoors.

Prince Even makes a gesture towards the table, invites him to sit down and Isak tries to smile, tries to be forthcoming. Tries not to let the silence grow awkward between them as they sit down opposite each other.

“Thank you for inviting me,” he says taking in all the food in front of him.

“I know you’ve been training all day, so you must be hungry.”

Isak smiles back at him at this, happy with the gesture. Prince Even looks at his smile funnily, licks his lips and then clears his throat.

“I don’t know what your favorite food is, so I ordered a variety of food for us. For you.”

The last sentence is said like an add-on, like an afterthought. Isak can’t help but notice, hates how his cheeks flush from it but he hopes the prince will think it has more to do with how close they’re sitting to the fire than what he just said.

“Well. It looks good,” Isak says and can feel how his smile stretches into something more real, how his body and nerves ease a bit now that they’re actually sitting here.

As they eat Isak realizes that the dinner is nothing as he expected it to be.

Obviously, the food tastes amazing, even though there are things on the table he’s never seen or tasted before. But most of all, he finds that Prince Even is good company. That he _likes_ talking to him.

It’s nothing deep or groundbreaking, just simple conversation that flows easily, with Prince Even asking about his home and his estate, his life at court. Isak notices how he stays away from asking him about his reputation, about his nickname. About his time spent fighting which Isak has found other people morbidly fascinated by time and time again.

He never quite knows how to answer those people. Or how to act like years spent suffering and killing is something to entertain other people with.

All in all, it’s a nice evening.

Isak has smiled more in one night than he has in a long time, and it feels weird. But good.

Prince Even’s eyes are bright as they look at him, as they take him in while they eat, watch with rapt attention what he puts on his plate and what’s left behind. Like he cares to know what kind of food Isak prefers. Or at least Isak hopes it’s that and that he’s not terribly offended by how Isak eats.

He’s tried everything, although some things he only tasted. Some of the dishes he just couldn’t stomach.

Prince Even nods at Isak’s plate, a teasing smile on his face, as he says, “So _lutefisk_ isn’t for you?”

Isak looks down, watches the glob of what’s supposedly food on his plate and he reluctantly meets Prince Even’s eyes and shakes his head. Prince Even laughs, like Isak was just put through some kind of test which he failed, but still seemed to pass.

“No, I guess it wasn’t.”

“You don’t have something like that in Greenmark?” Prince Even asks, leans forward a bit in that subtle way that tells Isak that he knows what he’s doing. That he’s had years of training in appearing interested, of making polite small talk. It makes it hard for Isak to know whether he’s really interested or just relies on habit.

“No, all the food in Greenmark is delicious,” he says, making Prince Even laugh delightedly.

Isak’s spine tingles from seeing Prince Even laugh like that. That kind of laugh, the way his entire face and body curls into it, eyes disappearing, lips spread wide. That doesn’t feel like training, that feels genuine.

Isak opens his mouth to say something else, something, _anything_ , to keep that laugh on Prince Even’s face, but just then they’re interrupted by servants that start to clear the table and get it ready for dessert.

“You haven’t ordered as many cakes as dishes, have you?” Isak asks, eyes on Prince Even’s to make sure he knows he’s teasing.

It turns Prince Even’s smile into something else, changes it from loud joy to something Isak can’t quite put a finger on, and it makes heat rise in his cheeks once again.

“No, but I told the kitchen to be creative,” he answers.

“That sounds like something my mother would say,” Isak says, and it’s the most unguarded thing he’s said all night. Or ever, actually, to the prince. It just slips out. Maybe it’s the company, maybe it’s the wine he’s been sipping. Isak doesn’t normally talk about his mother, he knows there are rumors about her in Greenmark and he doesn’t like to inadvertently contribute to them.

“Your mother sounds like a lovely woman,” Prince Even answers, making Isak smile back. “I couldn’t help notice that your parents weren’t at the wedding?”

Prince Even’s so good at it, asking in such a way that makes it non-threatening, sounding like it’s a spur of the moment question when it’s probably something he’s been wondering about.

“No,” Isak says, suddenly very interested in one of the small cakes on the table in front of him. “They couldn’t make it.”

Prince Even raises his eyebrows but doesn’t say anything. Just picks up a cake to put on his plate and waits for Isak to say something.

“My mother… she’s sick.”

He glances at Prince Even briefly to see his reaction, but Prince Even still wears that polite warm smile encouraging Isak to go on.

“She’s… She can’t travel. And my father, well… It’s complicated,” Isak finally settles on after feeling like he’s spent a decade with that explanation that doesn’t really explain anything.

Prince Even leans back in the chair and says, “Okay.” Takes a bite of his cake like Isak didn’t just tell him something he normally doesn’t talk to people about.

Isak knows that this is where you’d normally ask about Prince Even’s parents but everybody knows what happened to them so he bites his tongue. The silence stretches between them as Isak tries to think of something else to say, some other topic to stop the silence from turning more awkward, and he finally just blurts out the first thing that enters his mind.

“Their marriage was arranged too.”

“Oh?” Prince Even asks, leans forward again, all interest and polite smile. “My parents’ marriage was too. They were very happy.”

 _Of course they were,_ Isak wants to say. It seems that the more he learns about Prince Even, the easier he finds his life to have been. To be.

“Well, their marriage isn’t.” Isak has to clench his hands to keep from playing with the napkin lying next to his plate, a clear sign of discomfort, of nerves and he’s been conditioned not to let that show.

Prince Even raises his eyebrows and looks surprised. “No?”

Isak shakes his head. “No. I can’t remember them ever being happy together.”

“Not even with you?”

And how does one answer that without giving too much away. Isak looks at Prince Even, tries to figure out just how much he can tell him, how much is too much. He swallows hard and decides to just go for it.

“Especially with me, it seems. It was the reason I moved to court so early. I was only twelve.”

“Twelve?” Prince Even repeats, looking even more surprised at that.

Isak can’t tell him why, can feel how his skin itches just from thinking about how it was for him at home before he left. He doesn’t want Prince Even to know.

So he shrugs. “It was better for me that I did. King Jonas, Prince Jonas as he was then, befriended me pretty quickly and we became very good friends. And he took me into his household.”

At the mention of Jonas Isak can’t help but notice how Prince Even’s eyes shadows, how he frowns a bit, but it’s almost imperceivable. Once again, nothing he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t watching Prince Even so carefully.

“Best friends?” Prince Even asks, slow and deliberate.

And now it’s Isak’s turn to frown, he doesn’t understand why Jonas’ name makes Prince Even’s mood change whenever it’s mentioned.

“Yes. I would do anything for King Jonas.”

This makes Prince Even’s frown deepen. Makes him exhale loudly and lean back in his chair all over again. He looks and looks at Isak, and Isak knows that if he lets himself he could drown in those eyes. In the way Prince Even looks at him. Like he’s a puzzle he can’t solve.

“Even marrying someone you don’t expect to ever be happy with?”

Prince Even’s features have smoothed out as he talks, giving nothing away. Isak has no way of knowing what question Prince Even really wants answered asking him this and the way he asks makes it seem like no matter how Isak answers he’ll answer it wrong.

So he takes a deep breath. And decides to answer truthfully. “Yes. If he asked me to.”

Prince Even nods and looks at the table. And Isak wants to elaborate, wants to explain that that wasn’t really what Jonas asked of him. But he can’t. He still hears Prince Even’s word to Sonja playing in his ears, telling her how he could never love Isak, and it makes him tongue-tied. He can’t look weak to Prince Even, can’t tell him how attracted he was to him initially.

So he keeps his mouth shut.

Lets Prince Even find his own conclusions to what Isak just said.

And when he takes his leave a short while later there’s a different kind of tension between them than when he arrived. He’s happy that he at least didn’t have to perform any other marital obligations with Prince Even tonight, with the way the mood changed between them. But he knows that he will have to again soon, to not get the castle to start talking, to not endanger the alliance. Despite the tension, some thoughts linger as Isak walks back to his room. Like the way Prince Even looked at him, his hands, how his neck looked against the stark blue of his outfit. Truthfully, Isak is desperately attracted to the prince.

He just doesn’t know what to do about it.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you Friday for the Friday teaser on my blog! xD


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost on promised time today! Whoa. Better not get used to it. xD
> 
> A quick THANKS to Immy and H for all their help, and then I won't delay you guys in reading. ;)
> 
> Enjoy.

The next couple of days, Isak goes through the motions. He gets up and goes to the camp to train with the soldiers. He talks to Commander Bakkoush every day about tactics and how to train the soldiers best, tries to give his opinion and tries to take things at her pace instead of the pace he really wants to be going at.

For some reason, it feels like the clock is ticking much faster than it should. He still has time before the battalion arrives, but they’re not moving fast enough for his taste.

Commander Bakkoush is an awesome woman, strong and fast and a quick learner. But she’s also very proud and quite stubborn, just like Isak, and sometimes it’s very hard to work with people that are too much like yourself.

But Isak does his best.

Trains with the soldiers, works with them, gets to know them.

Day by day it gets easier. Soon he knows some by name, has trained against plenty of them, his body bruised and sore, but in a good way. A different way than it’s been these last couple of years.

He’s even made one or two smile with him. It feels like a bigger victory than it is, but it’s hard to convince people that you like to smile and laugh when your nickname is “the Warlord”.

After a week, Prince Even shows up at the training grounds.

They had come together again the night before, back against back, Isak trying to keep quiet once again, falling asleep in Prince Even’s bed once again. Sleeping better than he ever has on his own, once again.

So Isak flushes when he sees Prince Even standing by the edges of the training field, looking regal and handsome, entourage flanking him on both sides.

Isak is training with one of the officers called Mutta, one he’s been training with every day since he got there. Mutta is easy company and a good fighter and he knows how to make Isak sweat and his muscles sore.

When Isak notices Prince Even, he freezes. He’s out of breath, flushed and sweaty, in his open white shirt that the prince clearly didn’t like seeing him in the last time he saw it. And he feels completely wrong-footed. Out of place. Wishing he was more put together for the prince. He looks at Mutta wide-eyed, hands running down his chest, trying to smooth out the fabric bunching at his waist.

But Mutta only laughs at his efforts.

“Don’t bother,” he says and nods in Prince Even’s direction. “He really doesn’t mind how you look, that’s easy to see.” And then he leaves Isak, takes long self-confident strides towards Prince Even who lights up in a smile when he sees Mutta.

And Isak is left standing there, wondering whether Prince Even expects him to go to him, or whether he should leave and get changed for him.

Until Prince Even takes a step in Isak’s direction, and then another one, and another one, making Mutta and his entourage follow him. And he doesn’t take his eyes off Isak even once as he gets closer and closer. When he finally reaches Isak, Isak is sure that even his ears are red, and he once again fights the urge to pull the edges of his shirt together in the front. He feels almost naked compared to Prince Even and his fitted stylish clothes.

Prince Even’s eyes are on Isak’s throat, on the part of his chest that’s bared, and he looks like the walk towards Isak was a bit straining with the way his cheeks are flushed as well.

Isak nods, and says, “Your Highness,” in greeting and Prince Even nods back. Surprises Isak when he replies, “Husband.”

Isak glances at Mutta besides Prince Even, who’s grinning, looking between Isak and Prince Even like he’s watching a show, and that makes Isak flush even more.

“Are my soldiers good training-partners?” Prince Even asks, eyes still not quite meeting Isak’s.

“Yes. I’m very pleased with them.”

“Good. That’s… good.”

Isak watches Prince Even’s throat bob as he swallows, and he’s sure that he’s making a spectacle in front of everybody there, but he can’t look away. He’s trying to think of a way to politely ask Prince Even what he’s doing there until Prince Even answers his question by himself.

“I came to tell you that we’ve received news from King Jonas.”

And that certainly catches Isak’s attention. “Oh?”

“It seems Greenmark has won the first battle after our countries became allies.”

Isak can’t help but smile, even though it makes him miss his men more than air in this very second. He wishes he was there with them to celebrate. He rolls his feet from heels to toes in an effort to dispel some of the excited energy bubbling inside of him.

“That’s good,” he says, trying to contain his happiness but clearly failing with how Prince Even’s smile grows on his face too.

“Yes. That  _ is  _ good. We’ll celebrate tonight. Maybe another private dinner?”

Isak really doesn’t want to. Really, really doesn’t want to. He wants to go to the tavern with some of the officers and get plastered on cheap ale, sing out his happiness with them. But he can’t. He knows his contribution to the victory is different now. He does his best to keep his smile on his face, to keep the happy bubbly feeling inside, as he answers.

“Yes. I would very much like that.”

He doesn’t fail to notice how Prince Even’s pleased smile makes his heart beat a little faster. But it’s easy to blame it on the rush of joy inside him.

\--||--

Although he knows he shouldn’t, Isak can’t quite manage to say no to a quick visit to a tavern with Mutta and Sana’s brother Elias and some of the other officers before he has to go to dinner with Prince Even. But even though it was only supposed to be a quick visit, he ends up staying too long, long enough that he barely has time to go change. Eskild greets him with a furious, stressed flush to his cheeks, pulling the shirt off him and throwing a tunic on him in a rush, and then he’s off to Prince Even’s quarters.

He’s a bit drunk, flushed from the alcohol and being in the sun. Hair curly from sweat. But he feels better than he has in a long time. So when he enters Prince Even’s quarters his smile is wider and feels more natural on his face than it’s been for a long while. And their conversation flows easier than it usually does.

Isak can’t help but push the boundaries a bit, trying to chase that sense of attraction he feels towards Prince Even. It’s hard not to when he’s sitting there in front of him looking so pretty and desirable. With his wide shoulder and slender frame. With those big lips and large hands. It makes Isak think about how they would feel on him, how they could make his skin, and other places, burn with pleasure.

So he flirts a bit, just some looking up at Prince Even through his eyelashes, a bite of his lips and a show of tongue here and there. And it seems that Prince Even’s not completely immune to Isak’s display.

He finds he quite likes making Prince Even flush.

And if he’s just a bit more vocal later that evening, leans a bit harder on Prince Even as he touches himself, comes a bit harder than he normally does from feeling so much of Prince Even against him, then it’s easy to blame it on the alcohol.

Although that may not be entirely true. He just can’t quite admit that to himself yet.

\--||--

The weeks pass by much faster than Isak anticipated. He’s kept busy training with the men, getting to know them and their strengths and weaknesses better, straining himself and his body. It feels good not to be idle, to do something. To move. But between spending time on the training fields and meeting with Prince Even, he hasn’t had much chance to explore the castle.

So one late afternoon where it’s pouring down, thunder and lightning splitting the sky and giving him an excuse to stay inside, he goes.

He lets himself get a bit lost, takes a different turn than he would normally take, surprises a maid here and there carrying sheets and clothes, bowing before they take off a bit quicker than they were before. He wanders the long hallways, finds walls filled with art, with portraits that he lingers on, eager to know more about this household.

He lingers at a particularly weird one; a portrait of a man dressed in his finest but the hat is off and so is the cloak he’s wearing. He’s looking to the side like he’s talking to someone outside the painting, and it’s such a different kind of portrait than what Isak is used to. He’s captivated, wants to know the man’s secrets, who he’s talking to.

But then he hears a noise, like someone walking fast close by.

It startles Isak away from the painting and he takes the four steps to the corner of the hallway to see what’s going on. Another hallway opens up revealing a man hurrying down the hall away from him. Isak contemplates for a long second whether to follow until he notices two big open doors to his left with light spilling out. It’s the first real sign of life since he started, the first sign of anybody using the castle but servants. So he has to go see what it is.

And what he finds takes his breath away.

It’s a library, an  _ enormous  _ library; walls to walls of books in different color and sizes that goes on for what seems to be forever. Fireplaces and sconces light up the place, and Isak takes in the islands of sensible furniture for reading and maybe studying, as well as large padded chairs to settle down in.

It’s heaven.

Ever since Isak was little he has loved libraries. All that knowledge within his grasp, for him to find and learn. As a child he spent long days in the much smaller library at the Dragonholm castle, with piles of books around him, trying to soak up as much information as possible.

He takes a step inside, and then another, eyes skirting around trying to take everything in. This library is an experience. The large windows sit high on the walls, and even though it’s dark out Isak can imagine how much light they must let in during the daytime. The ceiling is full of beautiful ornaments and paintings, so rich in color and texture that it must be impossible not to get distracted by them when you should be reading.

Isak already loves it.

He walks slowly along the bookcase to his left, fingers running reverently along the spines of the books as he passes them. So many books here, he doesn’t quite know where to start. He settles for walking along the bookcases instead. To begin with.

It’s easy to lose track of time here, but before long he has a stack of books he’s dying to read in his arms, still walking slowly along the bookcases, looking for more books to add to the pile.

There’s just something about the smell of old books, the silence of the room, the feel of the old paper against his fingers as he touches it, that he doesn’t notice where he is, or whether he’s alone, which is why he startles when a voice suddenly pulls him from his reverie.

“Imagine finding you here.”

Isak just barely manages to not drop every single of his books in surprise. It’s not until he’s sure they’re going to stay in his arms that he looks up to find Prince Even looking at him amusedly. Isak’s rarely clumsy, and this misstep makes him feel a bit beside himself.

“I do read, you know.”

Prince Even’s face changes completely at Isak’s biting response, his smugness disappears as quickly as it arrived and he even flushes a bit.

“That’s not--” he starts, but seems to change his mind midway and takes a deep breath instead. “What are you reading?”

It takes Isak two long seconds to decide how to answer, or if he even should answer in the first place, but the desire to get Prince Even to talk about the library and the books are too great.

“A little bit of this and that.”

Prince Even still looks nervous and instead of asking him another question the silence grows between them, like they’re both trying to figure out where to go from that bad start.

Before he knows it, Isak just blurts out the first thing on his mind. “I’ve always liked libraries.”

“Yes, me too,” Prince Even says quickly, relieved. “I’ve spent so much time in here.”

“That’s understandable.” Isak looks around, nods to the vastness of the room, “It’s beautiful, I can’t believe how many books there are here.”

“It was the pride and joy of my parents. Everywhere they went they added to it. I used to think that all the knowledge of the world was contained in this library.”

Prince Even glances at him, flushes a bit, and Isak knows what it’s like to talk about things that you don’t normally talk about. He wants to show Prince Even that he can.

“The library where I grew up wasn’t nearly as big as this, but I used to feel the same way.”

He watches Prince Even’s smile widen, growing impossibly big until Isak can’t help but return it. It feels like common ground, the first thing they’ve managed to agree on almost since he got here.

It feels good.

A servant steps into the space they’re in, like he materialized from the shadows, bows to them both before he turns to Prince Even. “Your Highness. You’re needed in the throne room.”

“Ah, yes. I’m on my way.”

The servant bows again, leaves just as quickly as he came, and they both stare after him, the awkward tension returning at the reminder of the outside world.

“Before I leave, I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Prince Even says quickly, but pauses here until Isak looks at him. “Do you want to go on a picnic with me tomorrow?”

“Yes, thank you,” Isak answers.

“Good. I can’t wait to hear if--” Prince Even tilts his head to be able to read the title of the book on the top of Isak’s stack, “--‘Fighting techniques of the Ancient World’ is as thrilling as it looks.”

Prince Even’s surprised laugh after reading the title is so contagious that Isak laughs back, unrestrained, freely. In a way he hasn’t laughed in a long time. While he’s still laughing, Prince Even starts walking backward, eyes still on Isak like he can’t stand looking away for a second, and Isak wants to hear that laugh again before he leaves. So he says, “I’m sure it will be.”

He gets what he wants. The sound of Prince Even’s laugh echoes through the library and leaves a warm feeling inside Isak.

This time he doesn’t try to make it go away.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the Friday teaser for the next chapter on my blog! I hope you guys are looking forward to the next one. :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're almost halfway there now! Only 6 chapters and an epilogue left after this. :D
> 
> Thank you all for your support of this fic, you're amazing. It's so much fun to read your speculations and to hear that you love it, and I WISH I could speculate with you (except I really don't want to spoil anything. xD). You guys make it so much fun for me to write for you. <3
> 
> As always, massive hugs and thanks to my two wonderful betas, H and Immy.
> 
> One last thing: I've been looking forward to posting this chapter so much. So. Enjoy! :)

Isak’s stomach rumbles yet another time, and Prince Even gives him that look again, eyes wide, eyebrows lifted, and Isak finds that he really likes this teasing part to him.

“I’ve been training all morning,” Isak says for probably the fifth time since they left the castle but Prince Even just laughs.

“So you keep saying.”

It’s good between them today, Prince Even’s full of smiles and laughter and Isak is too, more than usual at least. They’re riding next to each other, Isak on the same beautiful horse that he’s ridden a few times now, Prince Even on a red horse that fits his size. 

They’re venturing outside the castle together for the first time. Isak notices but he’s not sure he’s to put anything into it, whether it means something. Prince Even seems relaxed, and he might’ve even been able to fool Isak into believing that he was if it wasn’t for the men riding behind them, fully armed.

The thing is, Isak doesn’t know if this is usual for an outing into the forest for Prince Even. If it’s normal. But there’s a tension in the air coming off them, and Isak fights the urge to keep watch, to keep his eyes on the trees and the path in front of them to make sure they’re not ambushed or attacked. He doesn’t know these men as well as he knows the others so he can’t say for sure that this is out of place.

So he forces himself to relax, to remember all over again that he’s not part of the war anymore. Remind himself that there’s no need to be so alert now that he’s living here in Bergway.

“There’s a spot up ahead that I like to visit,” Prince Even says, points down the path ahead of them.

They ride on for a few more minutes and then the forest opens up around them, a clearing full of wildflowers and grass, a big old tree in the middle taking up space. It’s so pretty that Isak almost can’t breathe.

He looks at Prince Even, at his naturally regal posture, at how he just fits into his role, how everything about him just seems to vibrate with life and energy and he instinctively knows that this place is more special to Prince Even than he’s letting on. Isak wants to touch him, wants to reach out and take his hand, put his forehead against his, breathe him in. Wants to kiss those lips.

But he can’t, he can’t. Not when Prince Even doesn’t want him to, not when he’s in love with somebody else, so instead he settles for saying, “Thank you for bringing me here.”

Prince Even ducks his face, cheeks flushing a bit and he looks coy when he says, “You’re welcome.”

He seems so pleased with that thank you that Isak’s stomach explodes with butterflies and nerves. And hunger, because just then another loud growl from Isak’s stomach can be heard. Prince Even laughs and says, “Let’s get some food in you,” and jumps off the horse elegantly.

It’s hard to look away. So Isak doesn’t.

\--||--

They’re on a blanket by the foot of the tree, close enough that if Isak moved his leg just a little bit they would be touching. It’s hard to focus on anything but Prince Even. He doesn’t pay much mind to the guards that are standing along the tree line, facing the forest. He’s forced himself into relaxing and to ignore this nagging feeling that something’s wrong.

Because every time he does pull his attention away from Prince Even the only things he finds are the reassuring sounds of the forest; birds chirping, insects buzzing, the breeze disturbing the leaves. Nothing seems out of place. So he keeps his eyes and attention on Prince Even, allows himself to let his eyes linger on his hands and maybe get a little bit lost in how those lips would feel pressed against his.

If Prince Even notices he doesn’t mention it.

They’re done with the food, both just picking at some of the berries that were for dessert, and for the first time the silence stretches between them. It doesn’t grow uncomfortable, but it’s close, and it’s easy to see that Prince Even is building up to saying something so Isak waits for it. For him.

Until finally Prince Even speaks.

“Are you happy here?”

Isak frowns, tries to hide his surprise over the question from Prince Even but he’s not sure how good of a job he does. The thing is, he doesn’t quite know. Hasn’t thought about it because he hasn’t expected to be happy here in a good while. So he says the only truly diplomatic thing he can.

“I’m not  _ unhappy _ here.”

Prince Even smiles at him, a small, relieved, fond smile that Isak has never seen before but his expression stiffens quickly and he clears his throat. “Do you miss… Greenmark?”

Isak picks up a blueberry from the tray, chews it carefully while he contemplates his answer. He’s not sure what exactly Prince Even wants to hear, why he’s asking these questions, but before he can figure out what to say, Prince Even continues. “Do you miss… your friends?” He picks up a berry, moves it to his lips but he doesn’t put it into his mouth before he quickly adds “King Jonas?”

There’s something about the tone of Prince Even’s voice that makes Isak pay attention. Isak doesn’t know him well enough to be sure but it seems like his voice lowered when he said Jonas’ name.

Isak swallows hard, the berry seems to have grown much bigger in his mouth from chewing and he takes a pull of his waterskin to make sure it goes down right. He wants to ask Prince Even outright what he means, if he’s insinuating something, because he doesn’t quite understand this animosity Prince Even keeps showing Jonas. But he’s not sure he’s allowed, what Prince Even would say or do if he did.

Prince Even looks at him with wide, innocent eyes, too innocent, a flush high on his cheeks that wasn’t there before. Isak opens his mouth, desperately hoping that something appropriate will fall out of it if he doesn’t think too hard about it. But just as he does a loud yell from one of the guards pulls his attention from Prince Even and he looks over to see the guard draw his sword.

He doesn’t even think about it, acts on pure instinct as he surges forward, knocks Prince Even over with his body to push him out of the way and just as he does he hears the distinct whoosh of an arrow passing close by, followed by a strangled, surprised, hurt sound from Prince Even.

Isak stops breathing, his blood rushing through his veins so fast he almost feels dizzy with it. He knows that Prince Even was hit, knows that hurt sound can’t mean anything else, but he doesn’t have time to stop and check up on him, to see how bad it is. He needs to get him safe.

So he pushes at him, is up on his knees, hands under Prince Even’s arms before he even realizes what he’s doing, trying to get him to seek shelter behind the tree. Luckily Prince Even seems to understand and goes where Isak pushes him and they only just manage to duck behind it before three more arrows whoosh by the place they just were and one gets stuck in the tree.

Only then does Isak looks at Prince Even.

His cheek is bleeding and Isak puts his hand next to it, turns his face to see how big the injury is.

“It’s just a scratch. It only grazed me,” Prince Even says frantically and out of breath, eyes so big and scared that Isak’s insides clench.

Now that the knows Prince Even’s alright he notices the fight going on around them, on the other side of the tree, swords being drawn, yells and the clangs of weapons meeting each other. He can’t stay there, can’t keep away. Prince Even is sitting in front of him bleeding and if it wasn’t for his instincts he would’ve been much worse off and Isak can’t  _ stand _ the thought. How close they had been to…

The adrenaline rushes through his veins, urging him to fight, to do something, so he leans in and whispers, “Stay here,” to Prince Even and ignores how he reaches for him, how he starts pleading with him not to go.

He can’t stand idly by, not when Prince Even’s bleeding and whoever caused it is just on the other side of that tree, out in that clearing, killing their men.

He can’t.

So he rushes from the tree, grabs a sword from a dead man lying in the grass and joins the fight.

\--||--

Everybody’s quiet on the way back.

Isak’s entire body is strumming with energy, he feels like he’s vibrating on his horse, forcing himself to go slow, to not just kick the horse and make it run as fast as he feels his body is. He can’t though, they’re carrying wounded men with them. But at least none of their men were killed.

He tries not to look at Prince Even, afraid of what he might see there. Prince Even isn’t looking at him, can’t meet his eyes and Isak knows that he’s blown it.

He’s covered in the blood of his enemies and mud and grass, can feel the familiar ache in his shoulder and his left knee, looks down at his blood-stained hands holding on to the reins and knows what it is Prince Even sees. He’s seeing Isak for what he is, what he was afraid to show Prince Even.

He glances at Prince Even from the corner of his eye, feels the anger boiling in him all over again from seeing blood still there on his cheek, dried and flaking, but present nonetheless. Reminding him of how close they came, how suddenly this could have ended.

Everything in him screams that he doesn’t want it to end and for the first time, he lets himself feel it. Let’s himself feel that pull towards Prince Even, that promise of something that lingers between them.

He wants to move his horse close to Prince Even like they were before, wants to reach out and touch him, make sure he’s alright. Comfort him. He wants to pull him in tight and feel his body against him, feel how alive he still is, wants him to comfort  _ him _ . There’s so much restlessness inside of him and he just knows that Prince Even would be able to settle it.

Except Prince Even doesn’t look like he wants to.

They reach the city, enter the gate and suddenly there are people everywhere, guiding their horses, taking care of the wounded, asking them a million questions. Through it all Isak keeps glancing at Prince Even, he needs him to look at him, he needs to  _ know _ .

They’re rushed through the city, rushed up the stairs to the castle and Isak follows along mindlessly. Every passing second Prince Even isn’t looking at him makes his heart heavier, clouds his mind. He can’t focus on anything but that, the words  _ look at me  _ flashing through his mind over and over again, making it easier to ignore the sinking feeling inside of him, ignore the other words pressing to be considered, like  _ what now _ .

As soon as they’re inside the castle they’re met by the queen, who looks pale and frantic. It’s the most imperfect Isak has ever seen her and she moves forward to grab a hold of Prince Even, pulls him in tight and Isak has to swallow at the way his fingers itch to be able to do the same.

She whispers something in his ear that makes Prince Even nod and whisper something back. Isak can’t hear what they’re saying even though he’s straining his ears, but he watches her tear up, watches her frown deepen, and then she looks right at Isak.

She pushes Prince Even gently away, but keeps him close as she raises her voice and asks Isak, “Are you hurt?”

Isak is so surprised by this, doesn’t quite expect her worry, but it’s clear that she is. For him, too. He shakes his head, sharp and edgy, mouth clenching and tight. He doesn’t like being surprised all the time, so much has happened today that leaves him with questions, unsettled with newness. He needs the world to stay reliable for five seconds so he can catch his breath.

“Good, that’s good,” she says, looks him over and frowns at what she sees. “And none of that blood is yours?”

For the first time Isak looks down at himself for more than a brief second, notices just how completely drenched in blood he is, turning his new tunic into a rusty red that’s not nearly bright enough for the court. He looks at his hands again, looks at how they are covered in it, clotting in clumps along the edges of his nails, the red so dark that it makes the paleness of his skin even starker.

“I’m good,” he says, voice shaking enough that he clears his throat and stands up taller, more rigid, trying to calm himself with the familiarity of the position. “It’s not mine.”

“Marie,” she calls and a maid steps forward almost silently, “Make sure baths are drawn for them, we need to wash away all that blood.”

Isak watches the maid go, clenches his hands into fists behind him, trying to conceal how the adrenaline surge from before is turning into small tremors throughout his body.

She takes a step forward, almost close enough to touch. “Thank you... Thank you for saving my baby brother. We are indebted to you.” Her eyes are so blue and wide, so sincere. They look so much like Prince Even’s that it almost takes his breath away and it makes it harder for him to shake off her sincerity. He wants to belittle it, wants to tell her that it’s nothing, it’s what he does. But he doesn’t.

He can’t stand her looking at him differently too.

He nods. Tries to smile, just a small one, but it feels wrong on his face. The queen’s eyes soften, like she understands and nods back, before she turns to leave. Surprisingly, she leaves Prince Even there with him.

He still won’t look him in the eye, though.

“I’d appreciate if I could accompany you to your room,” he says, eyes stuck somewhere on Isak’s chest. It’s painful, the way everything seems to have changed between them. Like Prince Even being reminded of his brutality has completely changed the way he sees Isak.

Isak nods, hopes that’s visible enough for Prince Even because he doesn’t trust his voice right now.

When Prince Even turns around and starts walking down the hall, Isak follows with heavy steps. But to Isak’s surprise, Prince Even stops and waits for Isak to catch up to him before he continues down the hall. They walk side by side, hands occasionally brushing against each other causing a fire inside Isak every time they do. He’s all nerves, unsettled energy, doesn’t understand what Prince Even wants, and he’s curious to know how much has changed between them. But at the same time he’s not, at the same time, he just wants to pretend that nothing has changed, that everything’s still the same.

They don’t talk at all, the silence growing between them, heavy and unpleasant, making the small hair on Isak’s neck stand on end. There’s so much tension between them that Isak almost can’t breathe.

When they get to his chambers Prince Even stands back and lets Isak open the door, and to Isak’s surprise he stays. Isak hesitantly turns around and looks at Prince Even for the first time since they arrived at the castle. Prince Even’s still staring at that spot on his chest, and he looks nervous, shifting from one foot to the other. And then he finally shifts his eyes from Isak’s chest to his eyes. There is so much going on in his eyes, swirling with emotions that Isak can’t put a finger on, but make him hopeful in a way, make the knot inside his chest loosen a little bit.

Prince Even takes a step forward, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

“Are you really okay?” His voice is low, uncertain. Like he’s not sure he’s allowed to ask that question.

Isak nods, just a single nod again, but less stiff this time.

Prince Even purses his lips, looks down the hall before his eyes return to that spot on Isak’s chest and then to Isak’s eyes again.

“Can I see?”

Isak swallows hard, he’s still not sure what this is about, if this is really Prince Even showing concern, but he wants that to be it, so he takes a step back, makes room for him to join him inside and says, “Sure.”

Prince Even stands next to Isak as he fills the basin with cold, clear water and puts his hands in it. The water turns red immediately, and he uses a brush to scrub his hands, paying special attention to his nails. 

Prince Even just looks, doesn’t speak, but this time the silence isn’t uncomfortable. His gaze is welcomed, fills Isak with hope and warmth, makes him take extra care to wash all the blood from his hands.

When he’s satisfied he’s clean, he lifts his hands and shakes the water from them, and finally looks up at Prince Even. His eyes linger on that spot on Isak’s chest again and Isak looks down to see what he’s seeing.

There’s blood there, soaking the fabric of his tunic and it looks like it’s Isak’s with how much there is and the way the blood saturates it. So Isak quickly pulls it over his head, leaving him only in his undershirt that clearly isn’t quite as saturated.

“It’s not mine,” he adds and watches in fascination how Prince Even’s adam’s apple bobs as his eyes linger on Isak’s chest. He gestures to the cut on Prince Even’s cheek instead of dealing with how he's staring at him and asks, “Does it hurt?”

Prince Even lifts his hand to it, grimaces when his fingers touch it, but still says, “No, it’s just superficial.”

“Let me see,” Isak whispers, waits until Prince Even nods at him, pulls his hand away and then he picks up one of the cloths next to the basin, dips it into the clean water of the jug and uses it to carefully rinse away the blood on Prince Even’s cheek.

He’s gentle, doesn’t want to hurt him, a steady grip on his chin to keep him in place and make sure he doesn’t make a sudden move that could cause him to get hurt even more. Isak’s so focused, not really happy until the blood is washed away completely and he can see for himself that what Prince Even said is the truth; the arrow barely grazed the skin of his cheek, the cut clean enough that he might even not scar.

He doesn’t want to let go of Prince Even but has no more reason to keep holding on to him, now that he’s clean. Isak clears his throat and says, “I don’t think it’ll scar.” And that’s when he finally diverts his eyes from the wound to Prince Even’s to find him staring back at him.

Isak freezes.

They’re standing so close, closer than normal. Prince Even’s skin is burning against Isak’s fingers, against the palm of his hand gently resting on his jaw and Isak desperately wants to lean in and replace his hand with his lips.

He wants to taste him, wants to appreciate his heat and the pulse of his blood, wants to feel how alive he is. He knows he’s still trembling, small shivers running through him from the adrenaline, but he barely feels them. Barely senses anything but Even’s heavy gaze on him, weighing him down, building him up. A question and a surety that Isak has never seen on him before.

And then Even’s eyes slide lower, a quick glance at Isak’s lips and Isak can’t help the way his jaw turns slack or how his mouth opens. His breathing is starting to speed up, and his entire world narrows down to this, to the almost non-existing space between them, to Even’s dark eyes watching him intently.

There’s nothing in the universe but them, everything’s frozen. There’s only this, only Even’s lips that he licks when Isak’s can’t help but glance down at them too, the narrowing sliver of air between them.

Isak realizes he’s moved much closer without noticing, is slowly leaning forward until the distance between them is barely a whisper. Even is still looking at him, leaning slowly towards Isak as well, and Isak would dive in if he could only be sure. If he only knew with absolute certainty that Even would want him to.

That he wants this just as much as Isak does.

But then Even looks down at his lips again, tilts his head and leans in a little bit more, close enough for Isak to feel his breath on his face. Isak can almost taste him on his tongue, can almost feel the phantom touch of his lips against his and he opens his mouth further in preparation for the kiss that is just within reach.

His heart is beating faster than ever, his fingers are trembling and he can’t help but swipe his thumb over Even’s chin. The way it makes Even’s breath shudder is enough to make everything inside Isak burn, burn with need and an overwhelming desire to kiss Even.

So he leans in a bit more until they’re so close that the next time one of them moves their lips will touch.

Isak holds his breath, tries to make sense of the swirls of thoughts swimming through his head, tries to tell himself to go for it, to lean in that last bit, to kiss him, kiss him,  _ kiss him. _

A sudden hard knock on the door startles them and they pull apart.

Isak flushes, can feel how his entire face and the tips of his ears heat up, his eyes settling on Even’s wide ones for a long second, drinking him up, confused and unsure about what almost just happened. Really, he wants to lean back in, wants to put his hand back on Even, almost does, before Eskild’s voice comes through the door.

“My Lord. I heard you were wounded, do you need any assistance?”

For once Isak is glad that Eskild didn’t just barge in, that he gets a second to pull himself together before he has to face anyone.

He’s still looking at Even, takes in how his chest heaves, how he’s flushed as well, notices how he can’t look away from Isak either. Isak’s eyes slides down, notices how wet and big Even’s lips are, how inviting. The warmth and smoothness of Even’s skin lingers on his fingers, the small rasp of stubble on his chin. It would be so easy to act on this tension between them. With the way Even keeps looking at him, he suspects Even wouldn’t mind.

Another knock reminds him of Eskild still waiting for him outside and with an annoyed huff, he turns away from Even and calls for Eskild to come in.

Isak has never minded his valet quite as much as he does right now, has never wanted him less. But Even bows his head at Isak as soon as Eskild enters, says, “Husband,” in lieu of goodbye, and then is out the door before Isak manages to think of a good reason for him to stay.

Fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You see now why I have been looking forward to posting this chapter? I hope you guys liked it just as much as I liked writing it. xD
> 
> Don't forget about the Friday teaser of Chapter 7 on my blog on Friday, if you're into that sort of thing. If not, I'll see you same time and place next week. :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick thank you to H and Immy for their massive help and making sure that hands go where they're supposed to! xD
> 
> Enjoy. :)

It’s almost violent, the way Isak is pulled from his sleep. The sounds from his nightmare still echo in his ears, the swords, that shout that will never stop haunting him; “ _ Isak, watch out _ ,”, the spray of warm blood that followed so real that he tries to wipe it off even before he’s fully awake. He’s trapped, too warm, shivering, fighting off the remnants of sleep as he opens his eyes.

The room is still dark, the castle is quiet.

The only sounds are the crackling of fire to keep the room warm and his own harsh breathing. He tries to kick the blankets off him, fights how they’re entangled in his legs, twisted around his middle, and when he finally manages, he bolts away from the bed.

He stands there, panting, sweaty, blood roaring in his ears, his heart beating a frantic staccato rhythm against his ribs. He puts his hand over it, almost as if that will help it calm down, closes his eyes and starts to count down from 100.

God, how he wishes he had Jonas here with him.

He always knew exactly what to do and say when Isak would get like this the few times he had leave. Of course he went to the castle, to see Jonas, of course he did. It’s the only place that has ever truly felt like home to him.

Although the counting helps, he’s still restless, the nightmare making shadows jump at him from all sides, and he can’t stand still any longer.

He goes to the washbasin, fills it with fresh water and wets a cloth with it. When he puts it over his neck, he sighs in relief, doesn’t care about the cold drops running down his back, soaking his nightshirt. He keeps it on his neck as he moves to the window and stares out over the eerily silent courtyard.

The moon is out tonight, everything is painted in pale white light.

He starts counting the stones in the courtyard, eyes tracking them one by one, slowly counting up as he tries to force his heart rate to slow down and the roar of blood in his ears to subside.

There’s no threat here, not this close to the castle. He  _ knows  _ this, has been telling himself this very thing over and over again every since he arrived in Bergway. Nobody would dare do anything here with guards at every corner.

He’s safe.  _ He’s safe. _

But maybe he doesn’t know safe anymore, doesn’t know how to  _ feel  _ safe anymore.

Because the truth is, he doesn’t feel it.

\--||--

He’s achy and tired and grumpy by the time he’s done with the men.

He’s worked himself, and by extension them, harder than usual, his muscles sore from use. He knows he’s not being fair, he knows that he’s taking his lack of sleeping out on the men, the frustration of yesterday, how close they had been. The memory of seeing Even wounded from that arrow makes him push himself even harder, fight rougher and dirtier, with a determination that he knows that he hasn’t managed since the war.

And the men had let him.

They tried to follow him, tried to keep up with him. It was impossible, nobody really comes close when he’s like this, but they took their turns trying, seemingly understanding of Isak’s fury.

His best sparring had been with Commander Sana.

She’s a good fighter, fast and devious, has an instinct for seeking out weaknesses that surpasses his by far, and she gave him a real workout. He can’t wait to go another round with her. That session left him with a moment’s reprieve and he’s thankful for it.

He stretches out his shoulder as he starts the long walk back to the castle, enjoying the twinge in it that lets him know he’s pushed himself hard. Maybe even too hard. The only reason he had stopped was that Commander Sana told him to. Seeing her standing there, out of breath, bright blue scarf barely clinging to her head, pretending not to be worn out, it had been easy to follow her order and step away.

His heart rate is starting to slow by the time he reaches the barracks and he can’t help but take the long way back as he weaves through the small streets and houses. Not for the first time, he admires the type of quarters Bergway has for its soldiers. Their living standards are much higher than in Greenmark, and he suspects that accounts somewhat for the healthy glow the soldiers here have compared to back home.

He’s drawn to loud happy shouts, notices men gathered around a table outside a tavern, hands full of dices and mugs of ale, and he can’t help the longing he feels looking at them.

He doesn’t miss the war, not even a little bit, but he does miss the easy camaraderie he had with his men. The way there was always company to be had if he wanted it. If he needed it. The longing makes his chest clench with tightness and his body feel worn in a way he doesn’t quite recognize.

He walks towards them not really seeing, lost in his head with how alone he suddenly feels, when a whisper of his name makes him come to. The first thing he sees is Elias’ wide smile, standing up from his seat at the table, looking right at him.

“Going home, My Lord?” he asks, loud enough for Isak to hear even through the distance and Isak quickens his pace to get closer.

He nods, signals to the others that they should stay seated when they start to get up as well, and he doesn’t think he manages to hide his surprise at the next thing Elias says.

“Do you want to join us?”

Isak diverts his eyes from Elias to the other men at the table, trying to gauge how real Elias’ offer is. But all he sees are open, kind faces, a far cry from what he was met with when he arrived and that tight, uneasy feeling in his chest loosens a bit.

He must hesitate for a bit too long, because then Mutta joins in, saying, “Yeah, come on. I’d love to beat you at this game.”

Isak’s always been a sucker for a challenge, especially a friendly one like this, and he doesn’t hide his smile as he walks closer, saying, “You can certainly try.”

They all laugh, move over to make room for him like they’re used to doing it, and soon enough Isak finds himself with a mug of ale in front of him, trying to pretend that he’s learning how to play their game of dices.

He doesn’t let them know how this exact game was a favorite among his men, those long days spent waiting for the next fight, the night to be over, bored and restless, with games like these one of the few things to pass the time.

But as soon as it’s his turn it becomes apparent that Isak is no stranger to this game, and before long they’re all shouting with indignation, propriety and titles and stiffness long gong, leaving an easy, free camaraderie between them.

Isak loses himself in it. Laughs and drinks and shouts and talks, happy to be part of a group again, to feel accepted. It seems all his hard work has opened their eyes to him, has made them realize that he’s more than The Warlord, and he’s so, so grateful for it. 

Mutta pushes him with his elbow, says to the others, “Next time I want Isak on my team,” to much uproar among the rest of the group and Isak laughs until his face hurts.

There’s nothing of the tightness left in his chest when he finally moves towards the castle, a little tipsy and a lot happy, with a smile plastered to his face that lasts almost all the way to his room.

Maybe this place could feel like home. It doesn’t feel quite as impossible anymore.

\--||--

Isak can’t keep his eyes off Even.

They’re dining with the queen, more dressed up than usual because of this. He’s being quiet, he knows he is, but he can’t help but enjoy the easy banter between Even and his sister. Her two children are sitting next to her, two boys, one on each side, her husband on the other side of the table next to Even, and Isak loves how obvious Even’s love for them all is. Especially his nephews.

He dotes on them, listens to them talk, tells them the stories they want to hear.

Isak’s completely fascinated by the fond, loving smile on the queen’s face, how her entire demeanor is changed; softer, happier, more open. It’s clear she’s comfortable here, even though Isak’s present, and he’s amazed that he’s now apparently so much part of her inner circle that she feels she can be.

He catches Even glancing at him from time to time, like he can’t stop himself looking either, and Isak can’t help how his body heats up more and more every time he does.

He wants to kiss Even so badly.

Wants to go back in time, to that day in his chambers, wishes he had leaned in a bit quicker, that he had pulled Even close and felt his body against his. Wants to know what would have happened if he did. How Even would’ve responded, if he would yield to him or pull away. If he would pull him in and let Isak touch his body.

God. Even’s body.

He’s only seen it through that nightshirt, has only seen hints of it in the tightness of Even’s clothes. Knows he’s long and lean, broad-shouldered,  _ perfect. _ He wants to taste his skin, wants to look at him when they come together. It was almost impossible to keep his back to him the last time they did.

It’s been a week since that day and Isak has spent that week watching the small wound on Even’s cheek slowly heal, has made himself more and more available to Even and he’s definitely noticed how Even has done the same in return.

They haven’t kissed, though.

No matter how close they’ve gotten, how almost certain Isak is that Even must’ve wanted to as well, with the way he was leaning in. Since that moment passed, another hasn’t shown itself yet. They’ve come together once since, as they must, and although that was spent back to back, they were sitting closer, actually touching. Even was being louder, making noises that still make Isak hot to remember. Isak had felt the movement of Even’s arm as he was stroking himself and it had almost driven Isak mad with want.

There’s just no denying that he’s attracted to Even. He’s definitely attracted.

Every time they’re together the urge to touch him gets harder and harder to ignore, it’s almost at the point where his fingers tingle with how much he wants to. Like now. They’re sitting next to each other, not close enough to touch, but close enough to  _ accidentally  _ touch. And they did earlier when Even reached over the table to tease one of the small princes and his knee accidentally knocked into Isak’s. And when Even’s napkin almost slid down his thighs and he bumped into Isak with his elbow as he corrected it.

Isak’s skin still prickles where they touched. Like the blood is flowing more rapidly in those areas, nerves lit up with anticipation, excitedly waiting for him to do it again. His entire body constantly humming and throbbing with desire, singing  _ touch me, touch me. _

He diverts his eyes, nervous that Even will catch him staring, will know how much Isak is feeling, and he makes the mistake of glancing at the queen as he does. She’s looking at him with that same fond smile, only now there’s a bit of a teasing tilt to it. She doesn’t say anything or tease him further, just holds his gaze for a few long seconds before Isak finally has the sense to look away.

He looks down at his hands, swallows hard and hates how his cheeks flush. He suddenly feels so warm, warm and embarrassed at how obvious he apparently is in his attraction. The queen is obviously not opposed to their marriage, Isak knows this. But he doesn’t know just how much they expected from it, from him. If she hoped for something more for them or she was happy with getting an alliance and letting Even continue on making promises to Sonja regardless of their vows.

It just makes it even more obvious how he needs to come clean to Even, needs to tell him what he heard. Needs to hear in Even’s words just what Sonja is to him. It’s driving Isak crazy, filling his heads with doubts and insecurities. Maybe he  _ is  _ foolish to harbor these feelings, in feeling this connection to Even. Maybe Even is still seeing Sonja on the side and is tolerating Isak because he must. He doesn’t think so, but he doesn’t  _ know _ . But before he lets himself fall even more he needs to have that conversation with Even. He needs to tell him how he feels and hope that Even will give him the same courtesy.

The last thing he needs in this foreign country he’s still learning how to navigate is a broken heart.

\--||--

“I know we usually do it differently, but can I offer a suggestion?” Even says, looking at Isak nervously through a smile.

They’re standing on each side of the bed, both in their nightshirts, Isak fighting a losing battle with not looking down at where it’s almost possible for him to see the outline of Even’s dick.

“Yes?” His voice sounds so unsure and he clears his throat to get rid of it. He wants to be able to show more weakness in front of Even, wants to be able to show more of himself. But he’s still not sure about where he stands with him, what Even would do if he knew the extent of Isak’s feelings.

Even clears his voice as well, eyes sliding away from Isak before they find him again, and it’s clear that Even’s nervous about this, but it’s also clear that he’s determined.

It makes Isak relax a bit, makes him think that maybe what Even will ask of him won’t be bad.

“Can we sit next to each other this time?” When Isak takes a few seconds to realize what Even just said, the silence growing between them, Even continues, “Would that… Is that okay with you?”

Isak nods. One tight nod, like that’s all his body is capable of doing with the chaos going on inside of him.

Sitting next to Even, while they do… that. Isak’s dick stirs at the thought, at being able to see Even’s hand move, seeing his thighs and his movements, seeing his… dick. Isak’s mind is overloaded with how badly he wants it, how much he needs it, it doesn’t matter how hard he knows it’s going to be not to escalate it.

When Even sees Isak’s nod his face lights up. With his eyebrows lifted, his chin tilted down, he asks again, “Yeah?” And so Isak nods again.

Of course he does.

At first, it’s every bit as awkward as he feared it would be. They’re both stiff as they sit there, up against the headboard, blankets and furs pushed down to the foot of the bed to make room for them. They’re not even looking at each other. At least Isak isn’t, he’s staring straight ahead, almost scared of how much he wants to turn his head to see, of how much he would give away if he did. All he can see out of the corner of his eye is Even’s lower leg, a delicate ankle, long slender feet.

Even clears his throat again and Isak wishes he could make it easier on him, could say something that would make the nerves disperse. But the truth of the matter is that this is a huge line to cross with someone he barely knows, no matter how married they are. No matter how much he wants to.

Isak’s never been naked in front of a lover.

He thinks that maybe if he hadn’t been so young when he went to war, if most of his… encounters hadn’t happened there, fueled by adrenaline and fear of dying and an eagerness that follows the constant threat of death. If all of those things weren’t true, then maybe he wouldn’t be so self-conscious about it.

The fact of the matter is that Isak has never tried tender before. And with Even he wants to be. He wants to trust him enough that he can stand before him as naked as the day he was born, heedless of the scars and stories of war his body tells. He wants Even to see him, to know him.

As he wants to know Even.

If only he could know with certainty that Even wants the same, then it would be easy to wish for these moments between them to speed up, to go faster until they’ve reached that place of intimacy, of domesticity, of being so used to each other and each other’s bodies and each other’s desires that almost nothing is surprising anymore.

But for now, everything is still new and unfamiliar. Scary and overwhelming.

They sit there, not moving, not speaking, barely breathing, like they both really don’t know where to go from here. Until Isak decides that as Even was the brave one the first time they did this, he can be the brave one now. He turns his head to look at Even and waits until Even catches his eye. And then he smiles, tries for encouraging, for reassuring, although he’s not sure that he manages, until Even smiles back at him, a small, shy smile and his cheeks flush prettily.

Oh god.  _ Oh god, _ they’re so close. If Isak moved closer just a little bit, they would touch.

Even diverts his eyes but not for long, finds Isak’s eyes again quickly, only this time he bites his lip playfully.

Isak wants to reach out and pull at that lip with his thumb, wants to push his thumb into his mouth to feel how wet and warm Even is inside. He suddenly very vividly imagines what it would feel like if Even nipped at it with his teeth, maybe followed by that same playfulness that he’s showing now, and yeah, that’s Isak’s dick getting back in the game.

If nothing else, if they never manage to develop romantic feelings for each other, at least this part works for Isak. Even is so goddamn attractive, everything Isak could ever ask for in a partner, completely mesmerising in everything he is and does. If Even ever decided to actually want to  _ seduce  _ Isak, he would be utterly fucked.

But he’s getting ahead of himself, right now they still need to do this, still need to get off with each other.

Isak is acutely aware of how close Even is, the small amounts of skin he’s showing, how Even’s dick is starting to push against the fabric of his nightshirt as well. And now that Isak is looking at it, there’s no way he can look away as it visibly fills out under Isak’s watchful eye.

“Isak,” Even groans, voice deep and rough, already a bit breathless and want spreads through Isak’s veins like molten lava.

“Yeah,” he says, doesn’t really care what he’s agreeing to, thinks right now he would probably agree to whatever Even could possibly ask of him.

A shiver goes through him as he watches Even’s left hand slowly pull up the end of his shirt, the fabric pooling in his hand as more and more skin is revealed. Isak wonders briefly why Even is using his left hand, but his mind stops working as he watches that hand slide further and further up. Even stops when the fabric reaches the top of his thighs; unblemished, milky-white, hairless and Isak wants to touch so badly, but he keeps himself back. 

He can hardly breathe when Even’s hand goes under the fabric and Isak watches it move closer and closer until it’s there, covering his dick. Isak’s pretty sure by what he can see through the nightshirt that Even’s wrapping his hand around it, and that surety only grows with the small sound that follows from Even.

Isak swallows hard, the click of his throat barely audible to him over the roar of blood pulsing in his ears. He can’t take his eyes away from Even, can’t look away, wants to see Even’s hand move, wants to watch the shape of it under Even’s shirt.

“Now you,” Even says in that low voice that makes Isak’s dick twitch.

Isak wants to show just as much of himself to Even as Even is showing him, but he can’t. There are so many scars on him, so many reminders of who he is and what he’s done and it somehow doesn’t seem right to introduce them to Even like this. To make this moment be about something else than them, than this new intimacy they’re trying out. He’s afraid that seeing how marked Isak is will make Even lose interest in his body.

Thankfully, there is enough fabric in his shirt to still cover most of his legs as he pulls it up on one side, trying to make sure that they won’t be visible to Even as he does.

But any restrictive thoughts he might have had are quickly pushed aside when he gets his hand on his dick. He’s already so wet, precome wetting the front of his shirt and it doesn’t matter how much he wants to hold back, it’s impossible to kill the sound he makes as he touches the tip, spreads the wetness around with his palm.

“Isak…” Even says again, but this time it sounds almost pleading, and when Isak looks up it’s to find Even’s eyes trained on his hand.

So he starts to move. Slow, steady strokes, meant to build tension instead of releasing it, eyes sliding down again to where Even’s hand has started to move as well.

Even’s breathing is loud in the room, the small delicious groans he makes when his hand strokes over the tip make Isak’s toes curl into the bedding, make him spread his legs a bit to make more room for his hand.

When Even mimics him, spreads his legs a bit too, he ends up a mere finger’s breadth away from Isak’s, and Isak swears that he can feel Even’s heat bleed through. He licks his lips, speeds up his strokes and almost chokes on air when he sees Even do the same. Like he’s following Isak’s rhythm. He can’t help but squeeze harder, move faster, more intent to his movements, the tension ramping up quickly until he’s more turned on than he’s ever been with Even.

A noise pulls Isak’s eyes up again just in time to see Even throw his head back with closed eyes, and he’s even more beautiful like this. With the way he gives himself over to the pleasure, the way he so freely shows Isak, lets him play a part in it. And then he tilts his head down, opens his eyes and looks at Isak again.

His eyes are so dark, half-lidded and intense. Mesmerizing. Isak can’t look away.

He speeds up even more, feels how his body responds by heating up, his balls start to pull up tight, a deep throbbing ache and need in his belly and his groin, warning him that it won’t take much now.

Even turns his body towards Isak, angles it so it’s easier for Isak to see what he’s doing under that shirt. Isak’s eyes are trained on how the fabric is slowly sliding up with every movement of Even’s hand, showing more and more milky-white, inviting skin.

His mind is a haze, thoughts flying so fast through it that he barely manages to think one thought to end before another takes its place. He wonders what Even smells like there, what he tastes like. The sounds he would make if Isak would take him in his mouth and suck him dry. Whether his nipples are sensitive. How hot and tight he is inside.

His free hand grips the bedding between them, he’s so close, pleasure shooting from his dick to his balls, and just before he lets go, Even’s hand catches onto his. His grip is tight, sure, like they’ve done this a million times already.

And it’s like that Isak finally comes. His dick pulses in his hand, covering it and his belly and his shirt with wetness, and he gasps through it as his vision blurs at the edges.

He keeps his eyes on Even though. He doesn’t want to look away, wants to see how Even looks as he falls over too. He sees Even’s eyes indecisively jump between the wet spot quickly growing over Isak’s spurting dick on his nightshirt and his face, eyes sliding over his mouth and the flush of his cheeks, like he’s committing it to memory.

Isak doesn’t quite know what to do with all this attention, with the way Even looks at him. It’s so much, it makes him want to hide, it makes him want to preen, makes his body hum even though the lazy post-orgasmic pleasure.

Even finally closes his eyes, bites his lip in concentration and with a squeeze of Isak’s hand that Isak hopes matches the squeeze of his dick, Even comes as well.

Isak drinks it all in, the grimace Even makes, the sounds that spill over his lips, the flush that spreads over his pale skin. The way his forehead glistens with sweat and how tight his hand is holding on to him.

It feels so intimate, delicate, a far cry from the roughness Isak is used to.

He watches Even spill, wetten his clothes and his hand, watches how he’s just completely lost to it, no barrier or safeguarding. He’s so open, doesn’t mind showing Isak everything and that just blows Isak’s mind.

When it’s done, when his hand finally slows and his body loses tension, he sits there besides Isak, unmoving except for his heavy breathing. Isak watches, can’t take his eyes of him, his heart squeezing in his chest with how much he wants to lean in and kiss. A small smile starts spreading over Even’s sweaty face, and when Even turns his face slowly he opens his eyes and looks right at Isak. And he looks happy, satisfied. Like coming while holding hands with Isak is everything he could wish for.

And Isak knows. It doesn’t matter how hard he tells himself that he should take care, that he shouldn’t develop feelings, that he doesn’t know where Even stands. No, it doesn’t matter anymore.

He’s already falling in love.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Isak. <3
> 
> Remember the Friday spoiler on my blog! :) See you next week, my friends.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow 8 weeks pass fast, you guys! Thank you for sticking with this. <3
> 
> And a real special thank you to H and Immy. ;)
> 
> Enjoy, my friends!

There’s always something special about receiving a letter. It doesn’t happen quite often enough for Isak’s liking, but when it does he can’t help that flutter in his stomach.

He’s in his room, fire crackling behind him, sitting by the table rereading Jonas’ new letter for the fourth time already. Seeing Jonas’ crooked scrawl makes him think of home, makes him long for Jonas and the familiarity of Greenmark. He can’t help but touch along the lines of Jonas’  _ Dear Isak _ , something warm unfurling inside him as he does.

It’s good news. Victory is within reach as several battles have been won lately, and Jonas is cautiously optimistic that his wedding with Princess Eva might happen soon. It seems the steady flow of money from Bergway has helped tremendously and Isak feels proud that he was able to contribute in his own way.

There’s still that familiar sting in his gut that he’s not there with his men, fighting alongside them. He misses them too, can’t wait for them to meet up with him, which is another promise that Jonas makes to him in this letter. That now the war is coming along this well, his battalion will soon be dispatched to Bergway, to Isak. As promised to the queen.

Isak can’t wait.

His fingers slide down the letter, down to where Jonas writes that he misses him and hopes he is well. That he thinks of him and of the sacrifice he made for him daily.

And another wave of longing washes over him.

He finally puts the letter aside, finds a piece of paper and his quill, and starts writing Jonas back. He tries to tell him that it doesn’t quite feel like such a sacrifice anymore and he pauses to think about the way Even’s eyes shine when he looks at him, smiling as he does.

He tells Jonas that he misses him too, and then he finishes the letter with the hopes that his company reaches him soon and closes it with the royal seal of Bergway.

He leaves it for Eskild to take care of as he goes in search of Even.

\--||--

Isak finds Commander Sana on the field, overlooking Mutta and Elias fighting. Elias is very, very good with a sword, but Mutta is swift and agile which turns it into quite an equal fight. Isak has seen them train plenty of times by now, and there’s really nothing different about how they do it this time.

It makes him itch for change. He knows that Mutta and Elias can get better, knows that he could train them, and the rest of the men, to make better use of their skills in combat.

But he’s been holding back with his suggestions. He doesn’t want to make Commander Sana feel like he’s encroaching on her space. He’s spent the last couple of weeks slowly starting to give his advice when he felt it was beneficial and appreciated.

His own company is on its way and he knows that now is the time to speak up unless he wants the two armies to clash completely. 

“I wonder,” he starts, speaking to Commander Sana but not looking at her as he does. “If it would be alright with you if I could handle the training today.”

He can feel her heavy gaze on him, but he also knows that he’s shown his worth to her over and over again and if she doesn’t trust him now he’s not sure she ever will. 

After a long pregnant pause, she finally says, “Okay. I guess I could use a break. Let you deal with these morons.”

He turns his head and catches her eyes, a surprised laugh escapes him when he sees the playful wink she gives him, the crooked smile stretching her lips. It’s the least serious he’s ever seen her and he likes this side of her. When she turns to leave he understands just how far they’ve come, how much trust she must already put in him.

He looks after her for a few long seconds and then turns around to see the men with almost identical surprised smiles.

“You heard the Commander, we have work to do!” he shouts at them but doesn’t even try to keep the playful smirk away as he does.

The men listen to him and he directs them into the new formations he wants them to practice in. Before long he is surrounded by grunts, the clang of practice swords meeting, the distinct sound of boots hitting the ground hard.

He watches them, observes, stops them to correct them and is once again pleased by how fast they learn.

He just hopes it’s fast enough.

\--||--

Isak doesn’t look up until Mutta nudges him with his elbow, muttering, “Your  _ husband  _ is here to see you,” with that obnoxious voice he likes to use to tease Isak. Isak can’t help it, looks up lightning fast at where Even normally waits for him, and his breath catches when he sees him.

Even smiles at him when he notices Isak watching and Isak knows he’s smiling back, but he just can’t seem to help himself.

Mutta laughs at him, takes his sword and says, “We’ll just say I won this round. Go on.”

Isak would normally object, he doesn’t  _ lose, _ but he really wants to go to Even. Lately, Even has taken to walking him home when Isak is done with the training, hand in hand, talking and getting to know each other even more. Isak looks forward to it every day now.

So he goes, lets Mutta have that win, even if he really didn’t.

When he reaches Even they have that moment of unsureness, of shyness, where they stand in front of each other, all smiles and bouncy feet, a hesitation in their greeting like they both want to do more than what they do, but just don’t know how to.

“Husband,” Even says, eyes bright as they fall down on the wide opening of Isak’s shirt. Only now Isak knows that look, knows that it’s not annoyance, that it’s something completely different, and he really enjoys getting that kind of reaction out of Even.

“Husband,” he answers. 

He’s still not used to calling Even that, that it’s somehow become a term of endearment to them, but it’s worth it every time he does because Even’s smile stretches impossibly wider. He holds out his hand and Even takes it quickly and falls into step next to Isak. It’s only now that Isak notices the four guards behind Even, falling into formation around them.

“What’s going on?” Isak asks, eyes still on the guards. His hackles are rising and he can’t help the alarm that fills his body.

“I thought we could do something different today,” Even says and uses their joined hand to keep Isak walking.

“Something dangerous?”

Even huffs out a small laugh, glances quickly at Isak. “No. But I wanted to show you the city, take you to some of the places you haven’t been yet.”

Isak doesn’t look away from the guards, so Even stops them and takes both of Isak’s hands in his and waits until Isak finally looks at him.

“They’re just a precaution, nothing to worry about. No matter how many people there are in town, I’ve never had anything happen to me. But... you never know. We are royalty, after all.”

Isak tries to take Even’s words in, tries to be reassured, but he can’t shake the feeling of unease. But Even seems so calm, and he doesn’t want to ruin Even’s surprise by being suspicious.

“Okay, Where are we going again?”

Even smiles and turns around to start walking again. And Isak does his very best to focus on Even and not the guards following them.

\--||--

“Oh, over here,” Even says, dragging Isak towards another booth full of merchandise and Isak goes willingly.

He actually really likes doing this with Even, seeing how excited he gets when he finds something he likes, seeing him interacting with his people and no matter how weary they are towards Isak, it’s easy to see how much they love Even.

The merchant bows for them, bids them welcome and then says, “A ribbon for your love?”

Isak tears his eyes away from Even and it’s only now that he notices that the booth is filled with ribbons in all sorts of colors and lengths, some plain, some intricately patterned. They’re beautiful, unlike anything Isak has ever seen before in Greenmark.

His eyes are immediately attracted to the red ribbons, the color almost similar to Jonas’ royal red, but then to the side, he spots a beautiful blue one, one in the exact same color as the blue ribbon across his chest when he was married. It’s not nearly as decorated as the others, almost plain to look at compared to the other designs, but it still catches Isak’s eyes.

Even must notice because he asks, “This?”, runs his fingers over it, and smiles at Isak when he nods.

He puts a coin on the table and the merchant smiles and bows again. “It’s an honor to be the one who supplied Your Highnesses with a ribbon.”

Even just smiles, nods back, and he looks so regal and perfect that Isak can’t help but reach out and take his hand again. They leave the booth with Even carrying the ribbon and Isak quickly forgets about it. He enjoys walking like this with Even, seeing all the sights he points out, the houses of importance and tries to remember the names Even mentions. They meet a few people Even knows, but all in all Isak is happily surprised by how easy it is for them to walk the city, uninterrupted and seemingly without disturbing the bustle of the city too much.

They keep walking, through the streets, looking at shops and fountains and by the time they reach the castle and the guards fall back, Isak is full of impressions and feels almost saturated with how much color and life the city is filled with. Even leads them into the castle gardens, walks them through the flowers and the trees, and everything's so green and alive, but quiet and calm, a complete opposite to the city outside the gates. Isak lets the peace fill him.

Standing here, looking over the city, feeling like a part of it all. Next to his husband. It makes him realize that he’s starting to think of this place as home.

Of Even as home.

It’s not until the side of his face starts to tingle that he turns his head and realizes that Even is looking at him.

“I bought something for you.”

Isak nods and turns his body towards Even. “You did.”

“It’s a Bergwergian tradition that when you fall in love, you present a ribbon to that person. It’s a sign that you’re ready to take the relationship to the next level, and if that person accepts, they wear the ribbon to show each other and the world that they’re now bound, that they’re a unit.”

He pauses, his eyes so bright, a small flush spreading over his cheekbones.

Isak can barely breathe. He already knows what Even is saying, his stomach exploding with the flutter of a thousand butterflies. Every sense in him is honed in on Even, he doesn’t want to miss what he’s saying.

And then Even continues.

“I know we’re already married, and that it doesn’t really get more serious than that. But I would still like to present you with this ribbon,” Even says as he opens his hand between them, that beautiful blue ribbon in his palm, holding it out to Isak. “And I hope you’ll accept it.”

Isak blinks.

Then he does it again. Looks down at the ribbon and then up at Even again. Even looks  _ raw, _ vulnerable. Nervous.

Isak flushes from head to toe, his heart speeding up until he can barely stand still. As the words start to register, as he starts to understand exactly what Even is saying, a smile grows on his face. One so big that his cheeks start to hurt from it, and he wants to laugh, wants to reach out and touch Even, make sure that he’s real. Touch that blush on his cheeks with his thumbs, put his hand over his heart and feel if it’s beating just as fast as his. He wants to pull Even close, put his arms around him, taste the way Even is starting to smile back at him, kiss him.

He doesn’t know what to say, isn’t sure that there’s even anything he could say that could possibly relay to Even just how much he feels the same. So instead he holds out his fisted hand, pulls up his sleeve so his wrist is visible to Even.

Even looks at it, and then up at Isak again, eyebrows raised, laughing delightedly as he says, “Yes?”

Isak nods, finally manages to breathe out a “yes” and can’t help the small happy laugh that escapes him too.

Even steps closer, hands shaking as he starts tying the ribbon around Isak’s wrist, an intricate knot tying the ends together and Isak likes how it looks there. And when Even is done, he lifts Isak’s hand, slowly, eyes on Isak as he does, and kisses the ribbon and the delicate skin on the inside of Isak’s wrist gently.

Isak shouldn’t be this affected by it, he shouldn’t. He’s not an inexperienced youngling, although he might as well be with how his heart is swelling in his chest and his entire body is poised for something, for more. How much closer he wants to be to Even. He still has that almost-kiss in mind, remembers vividly how close they had gotten, remembers how it seemed like Even wanted it too. So when Even straightens, still holding his hand, Isak takes a step closer to him, stepping into Even’s space, close enough that he can finally put his hand on his cheek, brush his thumb over that delicious flush on his cheekbone.

Even gasps, lips slightly parted, red and inviting, like he’s waiting for Isak. 

So Isak leans in.

The first press of lips is like a shock to the system. Everything in Isak freezes, there’s nothing but this; the soft, gentle touch of lips, warm skin against his, that smell that he’s started to recognize as Even’s, unlike anything else. The entire universe boils down to this. To them.

To their lips moving against each other, the way Even starts to pull him closer. 

There’s a sound caught in Isak’s throat that he doesn’t want to let out, something he’s sure will be too raw for this moment, but he’s never been treated with such care before. His heart is beating a frantic rhythm inside his chest, but he feels certain that if he were to feel for Even’s it would be the same.

He puts his arms around Even, pulls him closer, just wants more of this, wants to bury himself inside Even. He chases it, tastes the seam of Even’s lips with the tip of his tongue and Even opens for him so beautifully, opens and lets him in like it’s the simplest thing in the world to do.

The taste of Even explodes in his mouth, ignites all the nerves in his body. His arms tighten around Even unwillingly and he’s seeking more heat, more of that taste, mapping the parts of Even’s body he can reach with his hands. 

Even makes a small noise almost completely muffled by Isak’s mouth. It’s soft, sweet, more sigh than moan. It vibrates all the way down to the base of Isak’s spine and settles there.

It makes him desperate to find out what other kinds of sounds he can lure out of Even. 

Maybe Even wants to know the same thing because he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, pulls Isak even closer and Isak stops thinking completely. Just surrenders himself to this, to this moment, to how right it feels.

Lets go and gives in.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo. Finally, they kiss! I hope it was everything you guys wanted? xD
> 
> Tune in on Friday on my blog for a little teaser from the next chapter (or not), and I'll see you here same time and place next week. <3


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 already? How did this happen?? :O Only three more chapters and an epilogue after this one (what even). 
> 
> For many reasons, I know a lot of you have been looking forward to this chapter. So brace yourselves and I hope you enjoy. :)

When he reaches the training ground the next day nothing is as it usually is. The men look angry and on edge, muttering together in small groups, the entire mood of the camp changed from the easy-going mood that normally prevails.

Mutta and Elias come over to him and the looks on their faces put him on edge.

“Where’s Commander Sana?” he asks, looking around for her.

“You haven’t heard?” Elias asks. “Finnia just broke through our borders, raided a couple of villages and set them on fire.” His jaw works as he says the last thing through clenched teeth. “Murdered everybody there. Innocent men and women and children.”

At once, Isak falls back into that rigid position he takes on as a soldier, back ramrod straight, arms folded behind him.

“Has this happened before?”

Mutta takes over when Elias looks too distraught to continue. “Yeah, it’s happened before. But not like this. The severity of the attack-- It feels like a-- “

Isak swallows hard and continues for Mutta when it seems like he’s lost his words as well.

“A declaration.”

They both nod, and they all three turn to look towards the castle.

“I have to go,” Isak says and they look like they expected it, falling in line next to him as he starts walking back.

He notices it, wonders yet again if they know something he doesn’t, but decides they’re not the ones he needs answers from.

And this time he will get them.

\--||--

As soon as he reaches the castle Mutta and Elias fall away and leave him to walk the rest of the way to the queen’s chambers alone. Just as he gets there, Commander Sana is closing the door behind her and she looks grim and determined, nodding at him like she too expected him to be there. Seems like he’s the only one surprised by what today has turned up.

A guard announces him to the queen and he’s immediately admitted. Inside he finds chaos.

The queen is sitting by a table surrounded by advisors, all shouting at once, and she looks tired and annoyed. Isak only just notices Even standing in the background, before the queen says, “Ah, Prince-consort Isak. We were expecting you,” and Isak has to divert his attention to her as the room falls silent.

“Leave us,” she says, much to the clear dismay of several of the council members, but none dare speak against her. They gather their stuff and are out of there in seconds, the quiet they leave behind a stark contrast to the racket from before.

Even moves to stand behind her. He gives Isak a small nervous smile and it doesn’t make Isak feel better about the situation at all. Rather, it makes him feel even more nervous.

He waits for the queen to start, stays still until she does.

She looks down at the papers in front of her for a while, like she’s gathering her thoughts and when she finally looks up, her eyes finds his right away and she clears her throat. 

“Isak,” she starts, and Isak is almost startled by the use of his first name like this. It makes him even more nervous. “I--  _ We, _ ” she looks at Even and he nods at her in reassurance, “wanted to make sure that you heard what is going on from us.”

He nods once, sharply, his spine almost straight enough to hurt by now. Is it Jonas? Is it his parents? Is the war lost?

She sighs, and then finally starts speaking.

“You have heard that Queen Sara’s armies have raided our border?” she pauses to see Isak nod again. “It’s not the first time.”

She nods at him to sit down, and he does, but he can barely sit still, his entire body vibrating with adrenaline and anticipation. But he keeps quiet, lets her say what she needs to.

“We’ve had troubles with her kingdom for a good while now, but these last six months have been particularly trying and she’s tested our patience again and again. Though never as severely as this time. It seems she thinks us weak, with our money going to Greenmark, and no added army from you yet, our own armies untrained and in tatters.”

She looks calm and collected as she talks but Isak knows her a bit better now. Can see the slight flush on her cheeks from anger, from how it pains her that others think of them as weak. She looks right at him as she continues, those bright blue eyes boring into his.

“But we know better. We know we’re not weak, we know your company from Greenmark is close, that our royal army is better trained than ever. That even more troops stand ready at our command from our Northern allies. We believe that now is the time to strike back.”

Isak swallows hard. There’s nothing but a fierce determination in her eyes, one that he recognizes. He’s seen that same determination every time he looks at himself in a mirror.

“We have reason to suspect that she played a role in the attempt at your life in the forest.”

Isak glances briefly at Even. His face is unreadable, eyes quickly darting away from Isak and it makes Isak even more suspicious.

“What aren’t you telling me?”

The queen sighs again, looks up at Even and nods at him to sit too. He finds a chair next to her, far away from Isak and Isak is about to jump out of his skin with impatience. He wants to know what’s making them both so hesitant.

“We also have reason to suspect that they might have had help from within the castle,” the queen starts and Isak can hardly believe what he’s hearing.

“I’m sure you’ve heard that I had an... involvement before you came here,” Even says and Isak doesn’t show his surprise at how Even takes over.

“Sonja,” he says and Even nods.

“Yeah. We were together for a long time, a political connection very eagerly sought out by Sonja’s family trying to gain influence, which I was not opposed. For a long time, I thought we were going to get married.”

Isak studiously ignores the angry flush that starts to creep over his cheekbones, keeps still and listens to what Even has to say.

“But over the last year we grew apart. Mostly because of her stance on war. Sonja is from one of the richest families and their fortune is mainly earned from metals. They would make a lot of money if Bergway decided to go to war as they’re one of the largest suppliers to the crown of the kind of metals needed to forge weapons. Needless to say, her family was very distraught when I broke it off with her and we started pursuing a marriage with you instead.”

Isak so badly wants to tell Even what he heard that night, those words he said to Sonja, ask him if he really broke it off with him before starting the negotiations for their marriage, but before he can, the queen pushes on.

“Distraught… that’s one word for it,” she says with a shake of her head. She’s clearly angry as she continues, “They made it very difficult to negotiate your marriage. Fought us every bit of the way, and I had to instruct Even to keep her at bay, to keep up a pretense just to make sure you would be safe, that the alliance could happen.”

Even and her look at each other for a while, and then Even says, “We suspect that they’re somehow involved with Queen Sara. In some way. Maybe not Sonja, but her family.”

“You suspect they played a role in the assassination attempt as well?” Isak asks and Even and the queen quickly shares a look again and then Even nods.

“We don’t have any proof, but yes. We do. I’ve been scared for our lives, especially yours since you came here. They’re one of the most influential families in the country, we can’t really act on our suspicions without further proof.”

Everything clicks into place. Why Even has been so possessive of him, why there are constantly guards around them. Why he hasn’t been introduced to Sonja, even though they’re both part of the court.

“I understand,” Isak says, knows he has a ton of questions he wants to ask, but also realizes that they can wait. That they have to wait. Now there are more pressing matters.

“So,” he starts, addressing the queen. “We’re going to war?”

She nods, once. “Yes. I’ve already informed Commander Sana. And she agrees with me to ask you to lead the armies with her, as her second in command.”

He flushes from the honor she bestows on him and bows his head gratefully at her. 

“I graciously accept. It will be my pleasure to protect our lands.”

She nods again, looking pleased, but when Isak’s eyes find Even he looks anything but. 

Isak understands, he does, it’s never easy to be the one left behind, and to be honest, Isak really doesn’t want to leave Even. Not now, not that they’re just starting to get to know each other. But some things are more important than personal gain.

When the queen stands up, smiles at him and says, “Thank you, Isak,” like she really means it, like she’s grateful for his acceptance, that feeling just cements in him.

He’ll fight to keep her, Even, and their people safe.

\--||--

It takes a while before Isak is able to retreat back to his room. The entire day has been spent planning and sending out messengers for a swift assembly of the armies, to summon the armies from the Northern allies.

He’s tired when he finally closes the door behind him, and that’s the only excuse for how long it takes him to notice that he’s not alone in the room.

“Even,” he exclaims, happy to see him, but still hesitant. He has so many questions for him but he’s almost too tired to ask them.

“Wine?” Even asks, fills two cups with that sweet red wine that they like here. Isak still hasn’t gotten used to it, but he doesn’t refuse. He takes the cup from Even when he holds it out for him, and Even salutes him before he takes a drink from it.

Isak follows, more hesitantly, looks at the bed longingly for a brief second, knowing that there’s no way he can put off the talk they need to have. No matter how exhausted he is. And then he sits down at the table opposite Even.

He looks at Even, eyes sliding over his face, takes in the bags under his eyes, the nervous pinch of his lips. He has every intention of waiting it out, letting Even talk first, but he feels his resolve crumble with how tired Even seems too. 

“Why didn’t you just tell me that I was in danger? I’m not some damsel in distress, I can hold my own.”

Even swallows, fiddles with his cup as he says, “I know. Believe me, I know. You’re impressive with a sword.”

“Then why?”

Even slumps a bit, like he’s trying to become smaller and Isak has never seen him like that before. “I was afraid you wouldn’t agree to marry me if you knew. Or that you would leave.”

Isak’s face pulls into a frown, but he simply can’t help it. He doesn’t quite understand, isn’t sure if Even understands that it wasn’t really that kind of choice for him. 

“And I was afraid that you would think I only married you to keep Sonja and her family away from the throne or married you for your armies.”

“You didn’t?”

“No!” Even moves closer, puts his hand over the table like he wants to touch Isak but isn’t sure he can. “I saw you at King Jonas’ coronation years ago. And I remember thinking you were the loveliest thing I had ever set eyes on. I wanted to get to know you then, wanted you to notice me. But you never did, not as I noticed you anyway. So when I realized that there was a chance I could marry you, I jumped at it.”

He moves closer again, pushes through even though his cheeks and ears are turning red from the admission. Isak looks at him with wide eyes, shocked into silence.

“I hoped--” Even starts, hand finally close enough to Isak’s that his forefinger strokes gently along the length of Isak’s as he talks. “I hoped that you would find me agreeable once you got to know me. That I could show you I was worth noticing.”

And then he looks at Isak with those blue, blue eyes, gaze heavy with meaning and promise. Isak has never been looked at like that before, like someone worthy, someone to be loved and treasured.

“Even--” he says, his name falling out of his mouth with no conscious thought behind it. It’s like his mind and mouth aren’t working together, everything in him scrambled with Even’s admission.

What could he even say? Sorry he didn’t notice Even? That Even  _ is  _ noticeable, very much so? That he’s all Isak thinks about, all he wants? He supposes all of these could work, but Isak isn’t good with words like that. He isn’t used to opening himself up to the truth, somehow still afraid of what could happen if he did, even if Even put himself on the line first for them. And has made it quite clear that he wants Isak.

So many thoughts in his mind he has trouble concentrating on one. When the silence stretches too far, turns a bit awkward against Isak’s will, he decides to act instead. He puts his hand over Even’s, smiles at him. His smile grows wider for every passing second, with the way Even’s eyes light up. Like he can hardly believe that Isak seems to want him back.

Silly man.

There’s an entire table between them, way too much distance, so Isak gets up, pulls Even with him as he does and doesn’t waste any time once they’re standing. He walks straight into Even, his lips finding Even’s and this time the kiss isn’t chaste or dry.

He kisses Even like he’s been dying to.

Even moans and they’re standing so close that Isak can feel the vibrations of it against his chest, but it’s not enough. Even’s still too far away, so he wraps his arms around him tight, pulls him in, their bodies slotting into place. They fit so well together, aligned in all the right places. Even wraps his arms around him too, but he doesn’t stop there. His hands are constantly moving, running up and down Isak’s back, over his shoulder, grabbing onto his neck and his waist.

Isak wants more, wants everything, so he pushes against Even, pushes his tongue into his mouth as he moves him backward, swallows down the groan Even makes as he follows Isak’s lead beautifully. Isak is already starting to get hard, can feel it starting to press against his breeches, grinds against Even’s hip to show him just how much he affects him.

Even moans as he does, pulls back for a long second to look at Isak, eyes blown and lips already deliciously swollen and red.

Isak can’t hold back anymore, dives in, sucks on that lower lip that’s been taunting him, begging him to do just that, and the wet noise Even makes deep in his throat makes pleasure pool thickly in his gut, crackling up his spine like fireworks.

They don’t stop moving until Even is pressed against the wall, right next to Isak’s bed and Isak has never been more grateful for anything in his entire life.

He pulls off Even, forehead against forehead, and he feels almost lightheaded with how much he wants this. How much he wants Even. And maybe Even sees it on him, because he puts his hands on Isak’s cheeks, thumbs stroking his cheekbone, the tips of his fingers resting behind his ear and it’s so intimate and tender that it leaves Isak defenseless, raw. 

“Even…” he says again, voice shaky with emotion, but Even shushes him, leans in and rubs his lips against his, gently, carefully, like Isak is something to treat with care.

Isak’s chest is burning, his skin feels too small for his body, a desperation rising in him that he doesn’t recognize. The space between his ribs feels sore, small and delicate, but Even doesn’t let up. Keeps with the soft kisses that strip Isak bare, that leave his eyes wet and his heart thundering away.

“I want this,” Even whispers into the small space between them. “I want you. So much, Isak. You don’t understand.” The last words are breathed into Isak’s mouth, pushed against his lips, his tongue, undulating softly against Isak.

The way Even treats him, reverently, lovingly, it fills Isak, reaches into the dark places inside of him that he thought were unreachable, laid barren by war and violence.

He puts his hands around Even’s wrists, not sure whether it’s to hold him there or push him away, but he doesn’t do either. Just stands still and lets Even worship him as he pleases.

“Me too,” he finally croaks out between kisses, voice so small that he’s afraid Even didn’t hear him.

Even pulls back enough that he can see Isak, like he doesn’t want to miss what Isak is about to say. It makes Isak feel desperately self-conscious but he pushes through, he wants Even to know.

“I want this too. I want you. I want you so much,” he breathes and he doesn’t even care how scared saying those words makes him, not when Even starts smiling that blinding smile, the one where his eyes disappear and he’s all lips and teeth. Isak treasures those smiles, keeps them safe in the back of his mind.

His heart speeds up at the sight, his stomach fluttering and then he leans in and kisses Even. 

There’s nothing in the world like this. Like kissing Even. He gives himself over to it completely. He takes the time to explore Even’s mouth; the warm softness of his tongue, the cut of his teeth, the hard roof of his mouth. Takes the time to catalogue every sound Even makes as he does, wants to know what makes him groan and sigh and shout out. 

What makes him start to lose control.

Isak loses himself in the kiss, so utterly focused on discovering everything about Even that he almost startles when Even’s hand slides down his back, all the way to his ass, which he squeezes and uses to pull Isak even closer. The movement makes their dicks meet and Isak swears his vision whitens for a long second. 

“Shit,” he mutters against Even’s mouth, against those cushioned red puffy lips that he doesn’t want to stop kissing, that he wants to keep abusing. But apparently Even has different plans because he pushes Isak away with a hand on his chest.

Isak goes willingly, stops to look at Even, at the way he looks, debauched and impossibly more gorgeous than he was minutes ago. He’s so beautiful that Isak almost loses his tongue from it.

“Do you want to... take this to bed?” Even says, and then he bites his lip and Isak can’t  _ breathe _ .

“God, yes,” he mutters and pulls Even along with him the few steps towards the bed. 

They tumble into it, Isak on the bottom, Even on top and in a matter of seconds they’re wrapped up in each other yet again, hands moving over each other’s bodies, tongues licking into each other’s mouth, chasing the taste that lingers there.

It’s amazing, so much better than Isak had hoped for. Gone is the exhaustion he was feeling earlier, gone are the worries of war that have been plaguing him all day.

There is only this, only them.

It’s easy to find a rhythm that works with Even, their bodies learning together, rubbing against each other in ways that feel much too good for comfort. Isak is already so close, just from this, just from having Even close, surrounding him, moving against him. They’re still in all their clothes, still in boots, but Isak doesn’t care, and apparently, neither does his dick that’s pulsing in his breeches, spewing precome like there’s no tomorrow. He’s so wet and sticky there, it should feel uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. It just doesn’t. Not when Even keeps making those sounds, keeps putting his hands in Isak’s hair like he’s been dying to touch. Not when Even keeps treating him with such care that Isak can barely stand it.

Isak’s not used to it, not used to this tenderness. It’s hard for him not to grip too hard, not to push and pull too violently when it’s all he’s used to, but he tries to hold himself back. Doesn’t pause to bite at Even’s shoulder, like he normally would, or to knead those alluring muscles of his backside. He keeps his hands above the waistline, tries to keep it soft and gentle.

He hopes he can keep it up. He doesn’t want to hurt Even, doesn’t want to treat him with anything but care. He’s his  _ husband, _ and he loves him. This is a far cry from the quick tumbles he’s used to, just a way to release pressure and nothing more. He’s never cared for anyone he’s bedded before, and there’s no doubt he much prefers this.

Even’s hips grind against his in a perfect move and he can’t believe he’s already this on edge. His balls are pulling up tight, his dick tingling with imminent release and this is so, so different from all the other times they’ve come together.

He takes advantage of how he can finally touch Even freely, runs his fingers through his hair, the smell of the ointments he uses in his hair heavy in his nose. Runs the tips of his fingers over the soft curls at his nape, tangles them in his fingers as he grips on tight, pulls Even closer.

He swallows the sounds Even makes, revels in the way his muscles moves under his hands, how right he feels. He moves his body against Even’s, long, lazy rolls of his body, rubbing as much of himself as he possibly can against Even. Even spreads his legs further around his hips, aligning their dicks perfectly, and Isak’s head falls back into the blankets under him. He’s so overwhelmed with this, with how much care there is in every touch, in every kiss.

He’s starting to sweat, regrets dearly that he still has all his clothes on. He’s distantly aware of a drop of sweat running down from his forehead and disappearing into his hair, but it’s easy to ignore the tingly feeling it leaves behind with everything else going on.

He can’t hold back, doesn’t want to hold back, wants Even to know just how good he’s making him feel. He lifts his hips a bit more, chases that feeling Even is giving him, as his one hand slowly slides down the long expanse of Even’s back, down, down, down, until he’s finally where he wants to be. He spreads his fingers over Even’s ass. Even makes this choked off sound and then he starts convulsing against Isak, mouth slack and groans falling from his lips that sounds like music to Isak’s ears.

Fuck. He can’t believe that he made Even come like this, just rubbing against each other. It fills him with pride. That he could be enough, that he could be exactly what Even needed.

His own orgasm is just within reach. He chases it, uses the hand on Even’s ass to hold him close as he grinds and grinds against him. Even mouths at his jaw, every hard breath washing over his overheated skin, cooling him, making him even more sensitive, and Isak only just has enough presence of mind to turn his head, to catch Even’s lips before the pleasure becomes too much and he tips over. It’s almost violent, like the orgasm is pulled from him, starts somewhere deep inside of him and takes over from there. He stops thinking, stops worrying, nothing exists but the tingly ecstasy coursing through his body.

He’s shaking when he opens his eyes.

Even is lying half on top of him, still breathing hard as well, chin on Isak’s chest looking at him. He’s smiling that big smile, looks content and so goddamn happy that Isak could cry.

“So… that happened,” Even laughs, and Isak can’t help but laugh with him. He feels so good, his entire body floating and he wouldn’t change this for the world.

“It did.” He looks down at Even, noticing how messy his hair is, sticking out in every direction and he’s adorable like this. Isak really wants to kiss him and hold him close, which he does when he remembers that he can. “I’m glad it did.”

“Me too,” Even says and kisses Isak again. He settles into the crook of Isak’s shoulder, seemingly careless about the mess they’ve both made in their breeches.

Only he doesn’t feel at ease, he seems tense, fiddling with a string on Isak’s shirt. Isak puts his arm around him, caresses his back to make him feel at ease.

“Whatever you want to ask me, I don’t mind.”

“Have you ever done this before?” Even says, voice low and shy. He’s focused on his hand, not meeting Isak’s eyes. So Isak focuses on the ceiling instead, gives Even the space he needs.

“Yes.”

“Oh.”

“Have you?” he asks before the silence can become awkward. And because he’s curious.

“No, not really. Sonja and I have kissed, and… a little bit more. I’m not… very experienced”.

“Alright. That’s more than alright.”

Isak keeps caressing Even, tries to think of what to ask when Even continues.

“The things you’ve done. Have you done them with King Jonas?”

“What? No!” Isak pushes at Even until they’re lying on their sides, facing each other. He wants to be able to see Even as they have this talk. He’s annoyed with how Even always asks about Jonas. “I’ve never been with Jonas like that. It’s not-- We’re friends.”

Even looks more flushed than he did mere seconds ago, and Isak suddenly regrets his anger. He reaches out and takes Even’s hand and kisses the tip of his forefinger.

“You’re always asking about him.”

Even sighs, casts another shy glimpse at him but looks down as he talks.

“There are… rumors.”

“Rumors?”

“Yes, of you two. How close you are, how you are more than… friends.”

“And you believed them?”

“I had no reason not to. You seemed very close at his coronation and you seemed even closer when he was here at the wedding.”

So much suddenly makes sense to Isak, why Even has kept on about Jonas.

“I swear to you, Even. We’re close, yes. But that’s because we’ve been friends for a very long time. I owe my life to him. If he hadn’t offered me a place at court when I needed it, I don’t know where I would’ve been. You have nothing to feel jealous of.”

He kisses Even’s fingers again, just to emphasize it, moves down to the palm and kisses him there as well. Even grasps his hand with his, pulls it closer to him, his other hand touching the ribbon around his wrist.

“But there’s been others?”

Isak takes a deep breath before he answers. He knows it’s fair that Even knows, but he’s still reluctant to tell him.

“Yes,” he finally says. “I’ve been to war for a long time. It’s just a way to... relieve the pressure. To spend the time waiting. To come down after a grueling fight.”

He looks at their hands entwining, can’t look at Even’s face, doesn’t want to know what his eyes are saying.

“It’s never been like this though.”

Even squeezes his hand, asks “Like what?” and Isak has no choice but to continue.

“Like this. I’m used to battle-hard men, to roughness and violence. Never against my will, but that’s just how it was, all we were able to offer each other. I don’t know how to do it with someone I… care for.”

“You’re worried about that?” Even asks, even as he moves closer, just a little bit but still noticeable to Isak.

He looks straight into Even’s eyes as he breathes out his answer. “ _ Yes _ .”

“You’re worried you’ll hurt me?” Even asks as he frees his hand from Isak’s and puts it on Isak’s face instead, gently pushes a wayward lock of hair away from his forehead.

Isak swallows hard. Closes his eyes as he admits it. “Yes.”

But Even just caresses his cheek, and when Isak opens his eyes again he almost chokes from how Even is looking at him. There’s so much tenderness in his eyes, so much love. He looks at Isak like he’s the entire world and how is that even possible?

Isak doesn’t deserve it, doesn’t know what he’s done to be able to lie here with Even. Perfect Even, who loves with all of his heart, like he’s never been hurt before and like he never will be.

There’s something deep inside Isak that rips open at it, that bleeds out into a long-forgotten cavity, fills it up with warmth and affection and he never thought he would have any of that.

“You won’t.”

Isak barely breathes as he asks, “How do you know that?”

“I trust you. I know you won’t.”

And that’s…. Isak has no response to that, has never had anybody put his trust in him in that way before. Even looks dead-serious, there’s no doubt that he believes what he’s saying.

Isak flushes all over, heats up from head to toe, his heart swelling in his chest.

He’s never wanted to live up to anybody's expectations more in his entire life. He leans in, pulled by this need to be closer to Even, puts his hand on Even’s face and kisses him, kisses him like it means something, tries to show him with something else than words just what that trust means to him.

When they finally pull apart his lips are tingling and the exhaustion starts to creep up on him again. He knows he should get up and change, should wash off the seed dried in his breeches, but before he does, he needs to make sure Even knows.

“I’ll never hurt you intentionally, I promise you. I’ll protect you and this kingdom with everything I have, everything I am. Until my dying breath.”

Even smiles, a small sad smile, the promise of war creeping into the space between them.

“I know,” he says with a thin low voice, eyes a bit wetter than before.

“Even,” Isak mutters, and pulls him in close, entangles their bodies until they’re so close they feel like one.

He suddenly wishes he didn’t have to leave, that he could spend the rest of his life here by Even’s side, getting to know him and his body. Getting to see that big smile so many times that he loses count.

He’ll just have to make sure that’ll happen. That that’s a future they’ll be able to share.

He’ll fight to make sure it does.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeeeeeaaaahhhh. So. At least I hope this chapter answers some of your questions? :D
> 
> Remember that I post a little teaser from the next chapter on my blog every Friday, check it out if that's your thing. :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just noticed that this fic now has more than 800 kudos. Thank you so much you guys, you really are the best. Just know that I appreciate each and every one of you reading, and your support of this fic, and me, just blows my mind. <3
> 
> Once again, thank you H and Immy for questioning (almost) every detail of my worldbuilding (:D) and therefore making it so much better. ;)
> 
> I hope you guys all enjoy this one. :)

Isak’s so excited he can barely stand still.

It’s like his body is vibrating, like his skin is tingling, he’s so restless he’s shivering with the need to move, to do  _ something _ . He can’t help but fiddle with his shirt, with how high the collar is. He knows he’s going to look strange to his company, knows that he’s going to get teased like hell, but it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing that could kill his joy for what’s about to happen.

They’re finally here.

After all this time, they’re finally joining him here in Bergway. He can’t wait to see them again, to touch them, to find out who exactly made the journey here. Who managed to survive. He swallows the nerves down at that thought, he can’t think about that right now. There will be time to grieve later.

Now is for joy.

He’s on a horse, with his new soldiers lined up behind him, Commander Sana at his side. She is looking every bit as rigid as him, like the soldier she is. And he knows his nerves and excitement are barely showing either, he’s too skilled at keeping those feelings out of his appearance. They’re waiting, have been for a good half an hour, and with every minute passing Isak finds it harder and harder to keep still.

And then,  _ finally, _ he sees the top of a banner. And not just any banner, it’s his banner, the one that proclaims them as his company, his soldiers, and his heart soars and he wants to run to them. Wants to see them up close, wants to smell them and breathe them and listen to the familiar cadence of their speech.

But he keeps back, forces himself to hold still. Because he’s first and foremost a soldier and a leader, and a friend second.

The horse grows restless under him as the company moves closer and he puts his hand to its neck to calm it. He knows they make an impressive sight, he’s made sure of it. Has trained it into them over and over again, because fear in an opponent is always good.

The company stops when the first line is a good 10 meters away from them and Magnus comes forward. They’re dressed in full uniform, still wearing the Greenmarkian red and Isak has never seen anything better in his entire life. He fights a smile as Magnus addresses Commander Sana, bows to her and offers her and Bergway their service and allegiance.

Commander Sana graciously accepts and then Magnus turns to Isak and does the same. Magnus keeps his face straight, but only just. It’s easy to see the happiness in his eyes, the way he fights to keep the grin off his face too, especially when you know him as well as Isak does. Isak nods in acceptance, fingers twitching with how he wants to reach for Magnus, pull him into his arms and feel how real he is. He looks past him, sees Christina and Mahdi in the lines as well, lets his gaze rest on each face and they all meet his eye and nod at him.

So many are lost, but so many have come as well. He’s grateful for each and every one of them.

He knows they just have to wait until the official business is over, then he can go and greet them like he should, but it’s unbearable. He’s close to just jumping off the horse and running to them. But Even is somewhere in the crowd watching him and he wants to show him that he knows how he should act, knows the proper etiquette for things like this. That he can be a good husband worthy of him.

They move slowly towards the city, a long line of soldiers dressed in their finest, people stopping and staring. There’s no doubt that his company sticks out, dressed in fine leather uniforms, not unlike the one Isak arrived in Bergway in, hair long and braided like is customary in Greenmark. Magnus has even managed to grow a bit of beard it seems.

Isak rides in front of them, proud to call them his soldiers. Eager to fight with them again in the protection of Bergway and the queen. And Even.

He knows they’ll fight with everything they have to make sure his home will stand.

They reach the city, slim down to smaller rows of soldiers and horses, the clatter and noise bouncing off the houses and the cobblestone even more impressive than the soldiers. People line the roads, look at them wide-eyed but hopeful, and the closer they get to the castle, the happier people seem. Like news have reached the people there ahead of time, given them time to prepare for what they’re about to see.

They reach the wide set of stairs to the castle with the queen standing at the top again, and Isak dismounts with Magnus and Commander Sana and walks up the stairs towards her.

Once there, Magnus bows to her, goes down on one knee and repeats his promise of allegiance to her and her kingdom and she accepts smilingly. Isak finally lets his own smile free, relief starting to spill over, even as he tries to reign it in, just for a little bit longer.

When they’re on their horses again and start riding through the city towards the training camps it’s hard not to speed up. His horse must feel it too, as it grows more and more restless between his legs and it’s only due to his experience as a rider he manages to keep it under control.

Then they’re finally out of the city, riding into the camp, and as soon as he knows he can, Isak jumps off his horse and half-runs towards Magnus and the other soldiers dismounting just as fast, laughing and shouting welcomes.

He meets Magnus first, is enveloped in his strong arms, ears full of his happy laugh, but he doesn’t stay long before he’s on to the next, and then the next. Somewhere in the throes of people there’s Mahdi and then Chris, but for now he doesn’t linger, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.

When he finally reaches Magnus again, he puts his hand on his shoulder and the other on his neck, forehead to forehead, and says, “Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.”

Magnus laughs, one of those high-pitched ones that always makes Isak laugh too, if nothing else for the juxtaposition of someone like Magnus having a laugh like that.

“I’ve missed you too, Warlord,” he answers in his southern dialect and something warm settles deep inside of Isak.

He wants to thank each and every one of them for coming, but he knows better. He knows that they would probably be offended by his gratitude, that they’re here because they love him and want to be here.

And that just makes him so happy that he could weep.

Of course he ends up at the tavern with the soldiers most important to him. Isak drinks with them and laughs with them, makes sure that his new soldiers are included as well

The drunker they get the louder they get and the easier it is for them to talk and mingle. Isak orders another round of ale for the table, and sits back and watches how well they apparently already intermingle. How easily they could blend in together into one big company. Chris is engaged in a drinking match with Mutta and Elias with Mahdi following smugly behind. No way they’ll win over Chris, nobody can drink like her, but watching Mahdi smile that big smile of his as they try is worth not alerting them to the hangover they’ll surely have tomorrow.

He’s sitting next to Magnus who’s taking in the sight of them too, but he’s not offering to join them. He keeps close to Isak, and there’s something about having him so close, warm and alive, that calms Isak right down. Makes him realize just how much he’s missed him.

“King Jonas sends his regards,” Magnus says, voice low and intimate, making sure nobody overhears him. “He’s very happy with how the war is going, we’ve regained most of our territory and are close to winning. Those goddamn southern bastards can rot in hell,” he follows that statement up with spitting on the floor. Like he always does when he talks about their southern enemy.

“I’m very happy to hear that,” Isak says.

Magnus turns his head so he can look at Isak out of the corner of his eye.

“I hope you realize just how big a difference the influx of money your marriage has provided the kingdom with has made for us. I know it is a sacrifice, but you made the right choice.”

Isak looks down at his beer, happy for the praise, but lost for words all the same. He’s always been bad with that kind of praise from his soldiers.

“Are they treating you right?” Magnus asks, voice jovial but Isak can clearly hear the hidden anger underneath it.

He turns his head, looks at Magnus, looks at how his eyes take in his hair, and the foreign clothes he’s wearing and Isak smiles at him.

“Yes. Yes, they are.”

Magnus keeps looking at him for a moment more, but then he lights up in a big smile and raises his cup. “Good. I can’t wait to meet the man who tamed the Warlord.”

Isak laughs with him, raises his cup as well and teases Magnus right back. And everything feels right with the world.

\--||--

He’s drunk when he finally makes it back to the castle. It’s very, very dark, but he couldn’t care less about propriety and duties. His cheeks are hurting from laughing and he’s loose in his body in a way he can hardly ever remember being before.

He just hopes he won’t bump into anyone on the way to his chambers, hopes that he can manage to keep his drunkenness a secret, at least until tomorrow when it’ll probably be apparent for everyone with the kind of hangover he knows is waiting for him.

He tries to walk as straight as possible, tries to ignore the two servants he meets on the way, the handful of guards, who thankfully seem to be ignoring him too. But when he reaches his chambers he finds Even inside waiting for him.

He’s sitting in a chair by the fire, reading, eyes bright and happy when he looks at Isak coming through the door.

Isak stops, takes him in, the flush of his cheeks from the warmth of the fire, the robe he has over his nightshirt, like he’s ready for bed but was waiting for Isak. Isak hopes he was. He can’t think of anything better than to lay down next to him, bury his head in the junction between his shoulder and neck and fall asleep breathing him in.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Even says and puts the book down.

“I can see that.” Isak closes the door behind him but leans back against it, both to steady his feet and to be able to focus on Even.

Beautiful, beautiful Even. Who’s been so patient with him. Who desires him. Who  _ wants  _ him. Who’s looking at him with those big blue eyes with such fondness that Isak has no choice but push away from the door.

“I’m very drunk, Even.”

Isak isn’t sure why he’s saying that, if it’s a warning or an explanation, but he wobbles closer to Even all the same.

“I can see that,” Even laughs, not meanly. It never is with Even. “I didn’t want to go to bed without saying goodnight.”

Isak nods and hums, bites his lip. Takes a step closer. Watches intently as Even stands up and turns towards Isak.

They’re so close now, close enough that if Isak took two more steps they would be able to touch. And normally that would be enough distance for Isak to hold himself back, but not tonight. Not when he’s like this. So he closes the distance between them, reaches for Even as soon as he’s within reach and buries his nose in his neck.

“Is that really why you’re here?” he asks, voice muffled by the skin of Even’s throat. He runs his nose along the skin, up his jawline, opens his mouth over it and breathes wetly there. He could lick every centimeter of Even’s skin and never get enough of the way he tastes.

He hears the click of Even’s throat as he swallows and smiles when he feels Even’s arms wrap around him too.

“I don’t want to sleep without you lying next to me,” Even breathes, making goosebumps break out over Isak’s skin, small shivers of excitement run through him.

“Yeah?”

His smile widens when Even kisses his cheek softly and nods.

“Yeah.”

And just when Isak thought this day couldn’t get any better, Even goes and proves him wrong.

He falls asleep wrapped in Even’s arms, soaking up his warmth and presence, the luxury of having someone in his bed he wants to share it with.

That, coupled with the alcohol in his body, makes him fall asleep in seconds.

\--||--

The next week passes quickly.

Isak is on the training field every day, making sure that the two armies mesh together, learn how to fight together in the limited amount of time they have on their hands. It won’t be long before they’re doing it for real and it’s important that they learn to trust each other before.

When he’s done with that, there are the endless councils, hours of planning and going over maps and strategizing. He goes to bed late and wakes up early and does it all over again. Only now he does it next to Even, who’s just as busy as him.

Except for this morning. This morning Even had been very convincing when he tried to keep him in bed longer, and Isak is feeling languid and happy, relieved by the reprieve from his duties for a few minutes. His lips are sore from kissing, his body loose from the orgasms they just shared and he lies on his back between Even’s legs, head on his chest, listening to him reading from a book of poems. Even’s fingers are carding through his hair, softly stroking it back again and again, while Isak is caressing the hard skin of Even’s knee, slowly pushing his nightshirt further and further up with every pass hoping to reveal the skin of his thigh in time. Isak is just on the verge of falling right back asleep when there’s a knock on the door.

A servant enters when Even calls out for them to, and he keeps his eyes down as he speaks.

“There is a visitor for Your Highnesses waiting in the blue drawing room.”

That wakes Isak right up.

It doesn’t take them long to wash up quickly and get dressed, Eskild barely managing to do his job properly before Even and Isak are out of there, much to his dismay. When they’re finally let into the drawing room, Isak can’t believe who meets them there.

“Sonja?” Even asks, surprise coloring his voice, sounding every bit as caught off guard as Isak feels.

“Your Highnesses,” she answers and bows to Even first, and then Isak. She looks nervous, hands wringing in her bright yellow skirt. Her skin is pale and when Isak looks for it he finds bags under her eyes and sweat on her upper lip.

Even invites her to sit and she does so daintily, spreading the skirt under her and Even and Isak sit on the sofa opposite her.

Isak isn’t sure what to make of this visit, of her obvious nerves. Even’s words to her suddenly feel fresh in his mind and he wants to reach for him, wants to put his hand on Even’s leg to show her that things are different now, that she doesn’t own him anymore, but he doesn’t. It wouldn’t be proper of him.

But he notices when her eyes find the blue ribbon on his wrist, how they stay there like she can’t look away. And he realizes that to a Bergwergian that ribbon says more than Isak’s possessive touches ever could.

“Why are you here?” Even finally asks, breaking the silence and she moves her eyes from Isak’s wrist to Even.

“Yes. I--” she starts, but then stops to breathe hard. “I’m sorry, Even.”

Even leans forward, frowning and Isak knows that it’s a habit to reach for her when she’s in distress but he still wants to pull him back.

“What’s going on?” Even sounds more concerned now than curious and at the tone of his voice Sonja starts crying.

“You’re so kind. You’re always so kind, Even,” she cries, covers her face in her hands. “I tried to stop it, tried to interfere and I told them over and over again that I don’t want to play a part in what they’re doing. But I-- Nothing seems to change their minds.”

“Your family?” Even asks.

“My father. You know how he gets.” She looks at him and he nods in confirmation, face set in a serious grimace. “When you married… the prince-consort, he had to find another way.”

“What did he do?” Even says, voice changed into something much sterner. “Sonja. Tell me!”

She starts crying harder, small hiccups interfering as she tries to speak.

“I told them I didn’t want a part in it. I told them I could never do that to you.”

Even stands up and Isak follows him, takes Even’s arm as if to hold him back as he takes a step closer to Sonja.

“Tell me!”

“He’s… He’s reached out to Queen Sara, has conspired with her against the crown. An army is on its way, marching towards the capital as we speak.”

There’s a sudden silence in the room, Even standing stock still like he can’t believe what he just heard, like there isn’t room in him to process what he’s just been told.

But now the soldier takes over, Isak steps forward, pushes Even behind him as he asks, “How far are they?”

“They crossed the border this morning, 10.000 soldiers strong.”

Isak gulps. “That’s a big army.”

“Apparently Queen Sara has been waiting for this for a while, has been looking for an in. And my father just gave it to her.”

Isak is already stepping back, is already calculating what their next move should be, as Even calls for the guards. Isak barely hears her cries anymore, barely hears Even ask her where her father is, how he orders the guards to alert the queen, his mind whirling with the news. With such short notice, they’re maybe able to gather 7.500 soldiers. More if the northern army makes it in time now that the Finnian army is already marching towards the capital.

“I’m going to the Queen,” Isak says to the room in general, but just as he turns, Even grabs his arm.

“Don’t leave before saying goodbye to me.”

Isak takes the moment to put his forehead to his, to breathe him in for a long second, before he says, “I won’t. I promise.”

And then he’s off.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aggghhhhh. I know, I know, okay? The next chapter is only a week away. ;)
> 
> Remember the Friday teaser on my blog, if you're curious. :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I tell you guys how grateful I am that you're still reading this? Well, I am. Very much. Thank you. <3
> 
> H and Immy did their thing on this chapter too, and yeah. It's better now. ;)
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s late before Isak can retire. He’s spent all day planning and strategizing, looking at maps, giving counsel, and he knows that the queen is still going at it, but she ordered him to go back to get some sleep. He’s worried about how much larger the Finnian army is, worried that they won’t be enough. He hopes the Northern armies will get to the planned battleground in time, the messengers having been dispatched to their Northern allies just after they heard the news from Sonja. Despite the size of the army, he can’t deny the fierce need to protect.

He’s honestly a bit surprised by how strong this feeling is in him.

He’s filled to the brink with bloodlust, body alert with the imminent fight, longing to take them out. For the fight to begin so he can  _ do  _ something. He just wants Even to be safe, wants the kingdom safe. He never knew he could feel like this for anything but Greenmark and Jonas. But there’s no denying that he does.

He should be tired, should be  _ exhausted, _ but he’s not. Not when this is the last night he gets to spend with Even for a long, long time. He needs to be close to him, needs to breathe him in. Needs to memorize everything about him while he can.

He doesn’t want to leave him. He desperately wants to stay here, torn between his need to never leave Even’s side and this insistent need to protect him. Protect  _ them. _ But he knows that there isn’t really a choice for him.

War is what he does. Although, he’s just starting to learn that maybe he’s good for other things as well.

He walks towards Even’s chambers quickly, doesn’t want to waste another second. An image of them together in bed this morning pops into his head, and he hopes he’ll find Even like that again now. All warm and happy. He wants that to be how he remembers him.

He walks faster, runs up the next flight of stairs, the desperate need for Even pulling him, making him move faster and faster. Until he’s finally there, out of breath, almost vibrating with need.

And then he slows down.

He hopes that Even is asleep on the other side, hopes that he’s at least getting some rest. He hasn’t really thought about what he wants out of Even, he just... wants him. The rest he, they, can figure out. He pushes the door open and isn’t really surprised to find Even in front of the fire again. Only this time he’s not reading a book, this time he stands up the moment Isak enters, like he’s been waiting for him.

Neither of them speaks. They stare at each other for a long moment, before Isak closes the door behind him. He pauses to just take in the sight of Even, how the light from the fire hits him and covers him in soft, undulating shadows, underlining just how incredibly beautiful he is. He wishes it was possible to save this image in his brain so that he could revisit it in the lonely nights to come. To make himself remember how real Even is on the nights where it will feel like there’s nothing good left in the world. Just a small reprieve from the reality he knows he’s going to have.

Even takes a step towards him and that’s all Isak needs to move. They meet in the middle, a mutual pull that neither of them wants to resist. It’s not until Isak finds himself wrapped in Even, arms tight around each other, that he can finally breathe again.

“When are you leaving?” Even whispers, low and raw.

Isak fists his shirt in the back, clenches his eyes shut to stay in the moment, and reluctantly answers.

“First light.”

“So soon?” Even pulls back, looks at Isak like he’ll never see him again. Isak isn’t sure how he’ll ever learn to be without Even, can hardly remember a time when he was.

Even puts his hand on Isak’s cheek, and he leans into it, just wants whatever Even will give him. 

“Then let’s not waste any more time,” Even whispers, and then leans in and kisses Isak.

He kisses back hungrily, desperately. Doesn’t care that it’s not a tender kiss, just wants Even closer, wants  _ everything.  _ If he could somehow distill their entire future together into the now, he would. He doesn’t want to miss anything. And there’s so little time, so little they’ll be able to do.

Even pulls him in tighter, makes a hurt, frantic sound that Isak pushes back into his mouth with his tongue as he pulls him closer as well. Their bodies slot together and it’ll never cease to amaze Isak how well they fit. Like they were made for each other.

Without warning Even pulls back, pushes the robe off his shoulders and then starts in on the laces of Isak’s shirt, frantically getting it undone before they pull it off together. They’re back to kissing when Even pulls up Isak’s undershirt, fingers grazing the naked skin underneath, and this time it’s Isak who pulls back. He stops Even with a grip on his wrists, shirt lifted a few centimeters above the waist of his breeches. He’s already out of breath, panting as he looks at Even with wide, scared eyes, and he knows it’s stupid, knows that he shouldn't care. But he does.

He’s still scared of what Even will think, what he will say. If he’ll still want Isak when he finds out just how bad it is.

“What is it?” Even asks. The light cast by the fire is low and soft, but it’s still easy to see how his eyes are already blown, how affected he is by what’s about to happen, what has already happened. But he still stops to make sure that Isak is okay. “Isak?”

Isak takes a deep breath to brace himself, and then he answers. “I have scars.”

Even lets go of his shirt, puts his hands on Isak’s waist instead. “Okay? You don’t want me to see?”

Isak shakes his head. “I’m afraid you’ll--” There’s just no way the rest of that sentence can come out of his mouth, he chokes on the words, can’t get his mouth to work around them.

But Even’s eyes soften in understanding.

“You don’t have to show me. But-- there’s nothing that would make me want you less. No scars or marks could lessen my desire. But we don’t have to be naked.”

Isak leans in and kisses him, runs his hands up his arms, round his shoulders, down his sides to his slim waist. When they pull apart again, they’re both out of breath again, and Isak is shaking, want spreading through him so fast he only barely manages to hold on.

“Do you mind if I’m naked?” Even asks and just hearing those words makes Isak’s dick twitch, makes him heat up all over.

“No. No, I definitely don’t mind that.”

Even smiles, a quick devious, alluring smile that Isak wants to see on him over and over again and takes a step back from him, works the laces at his neck and once they’re loose enough he pulls the tunic over his head along with his undershirt. He doesn’t pause before he works on the laces of his pants, but everything in Isak is still. He can’t look away from the pale skin of Even’s chest, of his surprisingly wide shoulders and lean frame.

He’s gorgeous.

He’s everything Isak never knew he wanted, and he’s standing so close, looking at Isak like nothing else matters in the world. It’s a heady feeling being looked at like that. Isak has never before been naked with anybody, it’s never been about that. But it feels so right to have this first with Even.

He has a feeling that there’s going to be a lot of new things with Even. If only… But he doesn’t want to think about that now, he wants to stay in the moment, wants to be right where he is. Here with Even, looking at him as he pushes his pants down his hips, down his thighs, lets go so they can pool at his feet. And when he steps out of them, he’s naked.

There’s so much naked skin, so many places Isak wants to touch and taste. He idly wonders if Even is ticklish, and if he is, where, if the skin behind his knees is sensitive enough to make him shiver, how easily his skin would bruise. Isak desperately wishes he could leave something permanent of himself behind, something that Even could remember him by.

Even just stands there, lets Isak look at him, doesn’t seem to mind the attention.

“I like the way you look at me,” he says, voice rough and low. It makes Isak wants to give him  _ everything. _

He takes a deep breath, braces himself and then puts his hands on the bottom of his shirt.

“You don’t have to,” Even says, and that just makes Isak want to do it even more.

“I know.”

Even steps close, puts his hands on top of Isak’s and while looking him in the eyes he helps him pull it up. Isak’s head pops through and he’s amazed to find Even still looking at his eyes. He doesn’t make a move to look anywhere else.

“You look amazing,” he says.

Isak can’t help but laugh. “That was very treacly.”

Even laughs back, but the mood has lifted and Isak feels less tense about showing himself to Even. Even’s still smiling but he puts his hands on Isak’s shoulders, pulls him in for a deep, sweet kiss. It’s very easy to focus on that and not the hands that slide down his arms, feeling over the bumps of his skin.

Even pulls back, finally looks down at where his hands are sliding over Isak’s shoulders again, down to his chest, and he stops at his stomach at the gash that runs all the way from his hip to the bottom of his chest.

“What’s this from?”

Isak swallows hard, fights the urge to put his hands over it to hide it, but he trusts Even. Wants to show Even just how much, so instead he answers. 

“It’s from a sword. It’s an old wound now, it’s from one of the first fights I was in.”

Even nods, hands sliding up again, to one just by his nipple. 

“This?”

“An arrow grazed me. I was lucky it didn’t do more damage.”

Even nods again, fingers sliding gently over a jagged one covering Isak’s shoulder. He leans down and kisses it, cheek resting against it as he says, “You’ve been through so much. I can’t believe we’re the reason you have to go through more.”

Isak pulls Even back, puts his hand on his neck and his forehead against his.

“I would give my life to protect you.”

He hears the click of Even’s throat as he swallows, hears how his voice is thick with emotion as he says, “I don’t want you to.”

And then he can’t stay away anymore, pushes his mouth against Even’s, swallows the wet sound he makes. When he pushes closer he’s almost overwhelmed by the feel of Even’s warm skin against his, how Even just keeps touching him, keeps wanting him, like it really doesn’t matter to him how marked Isak is.

Even’s hands are constantly moving, touching every place they can reach. Isak has never been touched like this before, a warmth spreading in his body, sparks of pleasure shooting from every touch, slowly igniting a wildfire deep within him.

As his hands slide down Even’s body to his lower back and even further, he’s reminded of how naked Even is. And how he’s not. He pulls his hips back, starts working the bindings, wants to be naked too, wants to show Even it all so badly that his hands are shaking. But Even just puts his hands over Isak’s, calms him, helps him untie the laces until they’re loose enough that his breeches can fit over his hips.

When they fall to the floor, Isak is standing in front of him in only his hose, nothing else. Dick standing firm and strong, pulsing as Even looks down at it with a hungry look on his face.

“Let me help you with those,” he says and goes down on his knees.

Isak gulps, can’t help it, feels almost wrought-out as Even hands slowly slide down his thighs, over his knees, down the rest of his legs taking the hose with him. He’s so gentle, looks up at Isak with wide, happy eyes, like he knows just what that does to him.

It’s blowing Isak’s mind.

He has a prince, his  _ husband, _ kneeling in front of him. Isak’s realizing that if he could ever make the choice himself, he still would have chosen Even. Isak tries not to get ahead of himself, doesn’t quite know what to expect from Even, but his dick twitches again at the sight of Even sitting there, patiently undressing him, taking care of him. Mere centimeters from his dick that’s so hard by now that Isak almost can’t stand not getting any friction.

Even throws the hose to the side and then sits back on his haunches, looks up at Isak through his lashes, and god, the sight he makes. Isak takes a small step forward without thinking about it, unable to hold himself back anymore, and that causes a small crooked smile to spread on Even’s face.

He reaches out, wraps his long fingers around Isak’s shins, and then his gaze slowly leaves his eyes, starts sliding down his body instead, taking in every centimeter of Isak. He doesn’t linger, just looks and looks and looks, igniting all the nerves in Isak’s skin until Even’s gaze feels like a caress.

“Even,” he croaks when his eyes reach Isak’s dick and linger there. Like he’s unable to tear his eyes away from it, and he looks hungry.

Isak wants to repeat his name again when Even’s hand leaves his leg, only to wrap around Isak’s dick instead. He’s so warm and soft, careful in how tight his fist is, but he strokes along the length experimentally a couple of times, watches enraptured how that gets the tip wet with precome and Isak can hardly stand still. His thighs are shaking under him and he wants to pull Even to his feet and kiss him silly and knock him over on the bed, wants to push him into the sheets and touch him everywhere.

But then Even leans in and licks at that wetness, like he wants to taste, and Isak can hardly think anymore. He closes his eyes, puts his hand in Even’s hair, just stroking through it gently, pulling it back from his forehead so that when Even wraps his lips around it and sucks, he can open his eyes and see everything.

Those lips, that mouth. It’s impossible for Isak to say that he hasn’t thought of it, hasn’t imagined what it would feel like, what it would look like, but he never really thought it was something that could happen, and definitely never really expected Even to look like he enjoys it so much. Isak moans at the sight, knows he could come from this, could fill Even’s mouth and throat and stomach with his seed, and what a glorious ending that would be.

But that’s not what he wants. Not when they only have this one night.

He gently pulls Even off him, groans at the wet sound when his dick pops free from Even’s mouth and Even tilts his head to look up at him. Anticipatory. Trusting. Waiting for Isak.

God. Isak loves him. He knows it, wants to tell him, butterflies fluttering inside his stomach, fighting the white-hot desperate want rolling around in there, but then Even leans in again, mouths at Isak’s dick like he can’t get enough of it.

“Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck.” Isak pulls him up, pushes his tongue into his mouth, chases the bitterness of his own precome in Even’s mouth, as he walks them backward towards the bed.

When they reach it, he pulls back long enough to say, “I want whatever you want.”

“I want you to… I want you inside of me.”

“Fuck.”

Not that Isak is normally a very verbose man, but he’s apparently particularly uncommunicative tonight. The thing is, he didn’t actually expect this, was convinced that if they ever made it to actual penetration, Even would be the one to do it. He’s the prince after all, Isak is the stranger who married into the title.

But there’s no doubt that Even wants to. He’s flushed and perfect, dick hard and long, and he looks at Isak in a way that leaves no doubt of just how much he wants it. Even must mistake Isak’s silence for something else, because he leans in, wraps his arms around Isak and puts his lips right under Isak’s ear so that he can feel his lips move as he starts to speak.

“I know you’ll take care of me, I know you won’t hurt me. I just want to be with you like this, I want you to make love to me. Show me how good it can be.”

Isak clenches his eyes, clenches his fists, totally overcome with how much he wants to take care of Even, of his husband.

“Yeah,” he croaks out, turns his head so he can kiss Even’s shoulder. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He’s not quite sure how they end up on the bed, except they do. Even is lying next to him, on his side, and when he throws his leg over Isak’s thigh, wraps his arms around him, it’s like Even is everywhere.

In his mouth, in his body, in every sense Isak has.

When Even pulls he goes. Rolls with him until Even lies on his back and Isak is hovering over him. He takes a second to look down just to take him in. Wants to save this for the long lonely nights he has ahead of him, knows that this memory, Even lying there happy, excited, nervous, offering himself up for Isak, not out of duty but out of want, this memory will be the one to get him through whatever is about to happen.

He leans down, kisses the edge of Even’s lips, his chin, the tip of his nose, kisses the smile off Even’s face, and then he starts kissing down his body.

Even’s skin is so perfect; smooth and pale and soft. There are no calluses, no rough patches of hair, just endless planes of fragrant skin for Isak to touch and kiss and taste. Which he does with great pleasure. He pauses at Even’s nipples, licking over them just to see if that gets a reaction out of Even and he continues delightedly when it does. When they’re hard and red, Even panting and moaning under his ministrations, he finally moves on. Licks at the lines of his ribs, mouths at his protruding hip bones, bites gently at the soft flesh of his belly.

And then he’s right there, breathes in the bittersweet concentrated smell of Even, mouth-watering from how badly he wants to taste. He looks up at Even, sees his neck straining from how he’s lifting his head to be able to watch, and Isak can’t resist anymore. He has to taste, has to know if it’s just as good as that tantalizing smell.

He moans when he wraps his lips around the head of that glorious dick, the taste exploding on his tongue, in his mouth, and he knows that this is something he wants to do again and again. Especially coupled with the sweet sounds Even makes. He curls his tongue over the head, sucks a bit more as he pulls back, catalogs what makes Even moan and what makes him go quiet. Pays special attention to how Even’s hands slide into his hair and his head falls back into the bed when Isak puts his hand on Even’s balls too.

Even spreads his legs, makes room for Isak, and when Isak pulls back to rearrange himself in all that extra space he glances down. Seeing the shadow of Even’s crack, knowing that he wants him there, wants him to touch him and make him feel good, urges Isak to move faster. There’s heat pooling low in his groin, his dick dripping precome onto the blanket under him, and he can’t get over how much he wants this too. He’s never taken his time opening up anybody, but he finds that with Even he wants to. He wants to make him fall apart on his fingers before he breaches him with his dick.

“Do you have any oil?” he asks, almost doesn’t recognize his voice with how low and rough it is, and Even breathes for a few long seconds before he rolls to his side and reaches for it on the nightstand.

He passes it to Isak, squeezes his hand reassuringly as he does. And then he lies back, spreads his legs even more, and the amount of trust he shows Isak is enough to pull him back, to make him remember that he can’t just take, he has to give now.

So Isak pours some oil over his fingers, warms it up, and then takes Even’s dick back into his mouth. He takes him in deeply a couple of times before he switches it up by sucking at the tip, letting all the sounds pouring out of Even spur him on. When Even is shaking under him, his fingers finally finds his crack.

Although he finds his hole right away, he still slides over it a couple of times, gets Even good and sensitive, used to how it feels to be touched there. Even doesn’t seem shy, spreads his legs even more and moans when Isak touches him, his toes curling when Isak’s fingers circle his hole and he lets them catch on his rim.

He wants to bury them inside Even, wants to just fill him up, stretch him out, but he knows better. Knows that if this is his first time, he’ll be lucky to even get that far with Even tonight. Once again he’s filled with loss over how little time they have. If only they’d had more weeks to do this, to get Even used to having fingers in his ass, then they would probably be able to do more tonight.

But now he’s not sure if they will.

That doesn’t mean that he can’t make this really good for Even, that he can’t go to war with those moans ringing in his ear and the promise of how much more they’ll be able to do when he gets back home.

He starts pushing the first finger in, just to the first knuckle and although Even gives easily, he’s still so tight. Isak grits his teeth, his dick pulsing precome into the blanket, and he slides his finger out a bit, before pushing back in. He stops at the knuckle again, listens for sounds of distress but when he looks up all he sees is Even with closed eyes, looking like he’s really enjoying himself.

“You can go further,” Even breathes out, and so Isak does.

He slides his finger in to the next knuckle, and it’s still easy, surprisingly easy. Even just opens for him, accommodates him. Isak can’t help but look down, watches where his finger disappears inside Even’s body, and he’s never seen anything better in his life.

He makes sure he’s gentle, makes sure he doesn’t push too hard or go too fast, every sense in his body honed in on whether Even likes what he’s doing.

But Even surprises him yet again, lifts his leg up to his chest and says, “I know you don’t want to hurt me, but I’ve experimented with my fingers quite a bit. You can add another.”

Isak almost chokes on his tongue, his entire body heating up until sweat breaks out all over. God. Even will be the death of him. It will be a glorious, welcome death, but a death nonetheless.

He doesn’t ask Even if he’s ready, isn’t sure that would go over well now that he’s explicitly stated that he wants him to, he just pulls out enough that he can add another finger. Even is still tight as he slides in, but there’s no doubt that he wasn’t lying to Isak. Isak just slides right in, all the way until his fingers can’t reach inside any further. Even moans, arches his back, pulls at his leg a bit more, and Isak never wants to look at anything else again.

He fucks Even slowly with his fingers, lies between his legs, watches and learns, notices when Even’s leg starts to shake, when his knuckles turn white with how hard he’s gripping it.  His own dick is throbbing between his legs, begging for attention, the small grinds against the bed just aren’t enough anymore. He gets up on his knees, pulls his fingers out of Even and pours more oil over his hand, uses that to slick his dick up.

“Are you ready?” he asks, leaning over Even, slotting into place between his legs.

He rests his weight on one hand next to Even’s head, the other guiding his dick into that hot place between Even’s legs, and he doesn’t pause until it’s poised there, rubbing against the opening with every breath they take.

“Yes, yes. Come on, let me feel you, Isak.”

He puts his hand on Isak’s neck, pulls him down and kisses him deeply. It’s wet and frantic and his tongue feels amazing against Isak’s, so Isak gives into the need deep inside of him and starts pushing in.

When the head pops through Even groans, long and deep and his mouth goes slack. Isak pulls back just enough that he can look at Even as he pushes in further, small careful jabs, while he looks for any signs of discomfort.

But he finds none. Even looks lost to the pleasure, face warm and flushed, lips parted, and he’s breathing in small, panting breaths. He’s so beautiful that Isak can’t help but lean down and kiss him, nuzzle his face into Even’s cheek, overcome with how hot and tight and  _ perfect _ Even is.

When he bottoms out, hips pushed as close to Even’s as they can get, he pauses. He needs to get himself under control a bit, needs to pull himself back from the edge. Needs to make sure that Even is okay.

Even looks up at Isak with dark, half-lidded eyes, lifts his legs to bracket Isak with them, thighs tight on each side of him. He doesn’t urge Isak to move, but the tension in his body makes it clear that he’s more than ready for Isak to continue. It’s only Isak holding back now. He’s still scared, worried that he’ll lose control, worried that he’ll hurt Even in some way, especially with all that trust Even puts in him. He wants to live up to it, wants to do right by him.

So when Even hitches his thighs up further, slides his hands up Isak’s arms, until they’re around his neck, when he pulls Isak down for another sweet kiss, Isak finally gives in and starts moving.

The first thrust is like heaven. Even is so soft and warm inside, tight but accommodating, he yields around Isak so beautifully and it’s something else making room for himself inside Even. Being part of Even like this.

He buries himself there with long, languid rolls of his hips, and every thrust pushes another high-pitched needy sound out of Even. Hearing them just takes Isak higher and higher, makes it harder and harder for him to hold back. Sweat is dripping from his forehead, down into his eyebrows, curling the hair at his nape.

They’re not kissing anymore, simply breathing into each other’s mouths, lips rubbing against each other. It’s too much, Even feels so good, Isak’s balls throbbing with every thrust. He’s not being quiet anymore, can’t hold back the sounds spilling out of him, his hips moving on their own accord.

Every muscle in his body feels tight with tension, he wants to speed up, wants to go harder, faster, push up on his knees and pull Even into his lap or put his hand on his chest to hold him down. But then Even pushes Isak’s head down into the junction between his shoulder and neck, and Isak settles as he breathes him in, clean sweat and that fragrant smell that is all Even.

“Isak,” Even moans and he sounds so good, Isak just wants to be closer.

He pushes his arms under him, pulls him in as much as possible, his hips working, constantly screwing him inside deeper and deeper and deeper until the world narrows down to just this. To how good Even feels under him, invading every last one of his senses.

Even’s dick is so wet between them, smearing both their stomachs with precome. Isak wishes he could touch it, wishes he could wrap his mouth around it and lick all that wetness away, the taste still lingering on his tongue.

He’s already so overwhelmed, hopes that Even is right with him.

Even clenches around him on a particularly deep grind and Isak can’t help the stuttering of his hips, or the way he speeds up when Even’s nails leave indents in the skin of his back.

“Isak!” Even pants and Isak hums in answer, wants to reassure him, wants to tell him how he’ll take care of him, but his tongue feels too big for his mouth and he’s not sure there’s enough air in his lungs to speak. But Even doesn’t seem to need reassurance, mouths at his cheek as he says, “I’m close, fuck. I’m so close.”

Those words strip Isak of the last of his resolve, he pushes up, uses the strength in his body to slam back inside Even, pushing him up the bed a bit. Even releases him, puts both hands around his legs and pulls them up further to his chest, making room for Isak to move as he wants.

Even is a revelation under him, how he responds to every move Isak makes, how he matches Isak’s thrusts. He pushes himself back on Isak’s dick whenever he slows down, making it impossible for Isak to keep it tender and languid. He knows they don’t have all the time in the world, but he doesn’t want it to show, wants to make it seem like they do. Except Even is just too gorgeous for him to hold himself back. And Even is making it very clear that he likes it when Isak doesn’t hold back.

He’s so close, dick pulsing with every thrust, his balls pulling up tighter and tighter. Each thrust sending sparks of electricity down his spine to pool low in his groin, urging him on. He shifts his weight to one hand, locks his elbow to keep him up as he continues to move on top of Even and then he wraps his free hand around Even, starts stroking him to the rhythm he’s setting.

Even moans, wet and deep, knuckles going white with how hard he’s pulling at his legs. He’s amazing.

Isak can barely keep the pace, can feel his concentration slipping as he strokes Even, tries to speed up his hand to get Even to come before he does. His hand is working him faster and faster, and he watches Even slowly fall apart under him until he feels Even’s body go tight, his insides clenching around Isak until he has to grit his teeth against the temptation to just come, to stop waiting, and then he feels warm liquid shoot over his chest and stomach, over his hand, and he looks down just in time to see the last ropes of seed shoot out of Even.

The bitter smell of it hits Isak and then he can’t possibly hold back anymore. He buries himself as deep as he can inside Even and then finally lets go, pleasure ripping through him, making the world go blurry at the edges and his mind scramble with ecstasy. He loses himself in it, lets it fill his body, every crevice inside of him, overtaking any other thought he might have of how this is the last time he might feel like this.

His hips work in small effective jabs as he comes, pushing his seed deep inside Even, almost as if he could push in deep enough to mark him up, to make it stay there. To leave a part of himself with Even.

His skin is so sensitive by the time the orgasm starts slowing down, goosebumps spreading all over as Even runs a hand down his back, and then up again to put it into his hair, scratching the scalp with his nails gently, until Isak is shivering with overstimulation.

He stays inside Even, but shifts so Even can put his feet on the bed and relax his legs. And then they lie there, together. Isak doesn’t even think about moving and besides, Even doesn’t seem to mind his weight. They slowly calm down together, their breathing evening out, and Even doesn’t stop touching him, fingers idly stroking over some part of Isak’s skin at all times, while Isak just holds on to Even like he’ll never let go.

Lying like this together, wrapped in each other, it’s easy to convince himself that tomorrow is far away, that the realities of the world don’t exist in this small place of the universe they’ve carved for themselves. Maybe if he doesn’t move time will cease to exist.

It’s tempting to try out that theory.

If he could, he would stay. But he knows it’s not possible, knows by the darkness of the room that there are only hours left before he has to leave Even and their warm bed and the intimacy growing between them for who knows how long.

He doesn’t want to think about that right now, though. He buries his head in Even’s shoulder again, commits the contented sound Even makes to memory and tries to will time to slow down.

\--||--

Isak isn’t really sure if he even sleeps. He lies next to Even, curled onto his side, Even’s legs entwined with his, and just… watches him. Burns the memory of his long eyelashes, his sweeping hair, the curls on his nape and over his ears, the delicate lines of his lips, into his mind. His hand tingles from how much he wants to reach out and touch, feel his way down the slope of his nose, the long column of his throat, down to his chest. He wants to spread his fingers there and feel how alive Even is, his heart beating inside his chest, and there’s nothing Isak wouldn’t do to keep him like that.

The light slowly changes outside the window, turning grey and he knows they’re running out of time. He leans in, kisses Even gently on the cheek so he doesn’t wake him, and then reluctantly gets out of bed. He leaves Even there, goes to his chamber where Eskild is already waiting for him, ready to get him dressed and ready for his journey into battle.

\--||--

Eskild is tightening the last buckle on his plate when the door slams open. They both turn surprised to see a frantic Even standing there, a high flush on his cheeks and chest, out of breath from seemingly running through the castle. He’s barely dressed, certainly not appropriate for leaving his room, but Isak’s heart swells when Even just comes over to him and wraps his arms around him to pull him in tight.

“I thought you had left,” he whispers and Isak can hardly stand it. He’s torn between wishing he already had and stretching it out as long as possible.

“I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye.” He pulls back so he can look Even in the eye. “I promised you.”

Even smiles, small and wistful. “Yes. You did.”

“But it won’t be long now, the army is gathering outside the city. We’re almost ready.”

Even nods, a sadness creeping into his smile that Isak has never seen before and that he hates to be the cause of.

He touches the side of Even’s mouth, puts his hand on his cheek and revels in how Even turns his head into it.

“I have something for you.” Even says and nods at Eskild, who bows to them both and leaves the room. Isak looks after him, and then at Even, with surprise.

But before he can ask Even leans in and kisses him, deeply, full of longing, so much emotion that Isak can barely breathe from it. And he doesn’t pull back before Eskild is there again. He holds out something wrapped in a cloth to Even, and Even lets go of Isak to receive it. He unwraps it reverently, and when he’s done he holds it out to Isak.

It’s a sword. The exquisitely crafted handle is held for Isak to take and it’s clear that Even expects him to take it.

“It was my father’s,” he says, as Isak wraps his hand around it and slowly slides it out of its sheath. He holds it, slashes through the air with it, feels how perfectly balanced it is in his hand.

“It’s a great sword.”

“He fought many battles with it, made Bergway into what it is today. The queen and I want you to have it, want you to use it to keep Bergway safe.”

Isak stops his movements, looks at Even with wide eyes. This is a gesture beyond belief.

“But... isn’t this sword for you?”

Even smiles a small, private smile, like he’s remembering something. “I will never be a fighter. My father only asked that we keep it in the family.” He takes a step closer to Isak, puts his hand over Isak’s on the handle. “And you’re family.”

Isak swallows hard. If he ever doubted how real Even’s feelings about him are, this gesture tells him more than words could ever do.

“Thank you. Thank you, Even,  _ husband. _ I will make good use of this.”

Even puts his forehead to Isak’s, takes a deep breath that turns into a sigh on the way out, and says, “I know you will.”

\--||--

It doesn’t matter how many times Isak has left for battle, it never gets easier. But this time is especially hard.

He’s already sitting on his horse, the army ready to march behind him. He’s flanked by Commander Sana and Magnus, both of them looking grim and prepared. The horses are restless, neighing and getting harder and harder to keep still with every passing second.

Isak can feel his face harden, fall into that grimace he wears when at war. He knows he won’t have reason to smile for a good while, and it’s like he’s already forcing himself to get used to that.

The streets and squares are filling with people, coming to see them off. They’re hushed, like they can feel the anticipation in the air as well.

They have a three days ride ahead of them, have decided to fight the Finnian army near the Great Trollheight pass, hopefully giving them a much-needed advantage. Hopefully. There’s no other more direct route for the Finnian army, they’ll have to go over that pass if they don’t want a two-week delay. And Isak feels certain that they still think they have the advantage of surprise.

He hopes to crush them before they discover that they’ve walked into a trap.

Commander Sana rides her horse closer to him, follows his gaze past the roads they have to travel in mere minutes now.

“They’ll show. The Northern Alliance holds 5000 men, they’ll make it in time. I know they will.”

Isak just nods, they’ve been through this many times now, discussed all these details over and over again until Isak has grown weary of listening to them anymore.

They’re waiting for the queen to come and give them the command to start the ride, to go to war, they have a long ride ahead of them to where they’ll make camp for tonight. Isak can’t help but hope that Even is with her, that he’ll get to see him one last time.

When the queen arrives, she stays on her horse but positions herself so she can see them all, her eyes scanning the crowds, seemingly happy with what she sees.

A movement catches Isak’s eyes and his heart speeds up when he notices Even settling behind her. Even is looking at him, like there’s nothing else in the world and Isak can’t look away from him either. He watches him, notices his bright green outfit, how he stands out among the rest. He looks so gorgeous. Isak can’t believe that he’s real. That he’s his. There’s a longing pull in his chest, almost strong enough for him to jump off his horse, run to Even and wrap himself in Even’s arms. Stay there and forget all about war.

But he stays.

He listens halfheartedly to the queen’s speech, lets it rile him up too, infected by the lifting spirits of his men. They’ll win this, they have to. And then the queen gives the command for them to depart.

Isak looks at Even, unwilling to move, unwilling to tear his eyes away from him, but to his surprise, Even kicks his horse and rides towards him. Reaches him flushed and smiling, and this is the way Isak wants to remember Even.

“Come back to me,” Even says, voice rough with emotion and Isak leans in and kisses him. Tastes the sad smile on his lips, licks at the salt lingering there and he could cry, feels the burn in his eyes that he has to ignore even though it would be so easy to give in to it.

“I will. I promise.”

It doesn’t matter how they both know that Isak can’t possibly make those kinds of promises. Isak has never meant anything more in his life, he would give anything to be able to.

Even nods, kisses Isak again, quickly, much too quickly, but the army has already started to move around them.

“Don’t say goodbye. This isn’t goodbye,” Even says.

Isak nods, takes one last good look at Even, and then turns and kicks his horse into speed to get back to the front of the army to ride next to Commander Sana and Magnus.

He doesn’t turn back, doesn’t want to know if Even is watching him ride away. It’s hard enough as it is to leave him behind. He takes a deep breath, clears his mind, ignores the longing pull in his stomach. He can’t focus on that anymore, there are other things to fill his mind with now.

He has a war to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe there's only one more chapter and an epilogue to go! How?? What is time??? :O
> 
> Also! This is the last time I'm gonna remind you about the Friday teaser on my blog because I won't do a teaser from the epilogue. See you next Monday! :D


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> LAST CHAPTER. You guys, wow. 12 weeks pass fast, that's for sure. I hope you guys are ready! :D
> 
> Thank you H and Immy for the beta! <3
> 
> Enjoy! :)

He wakes up sore and achy.

He’s used to it by now, can barely remember how it was not to wake up like that. But this morning he doesn’t hesitate to get out of bed, can feel the excitement spread through him like the early morning sun through the lands.

Today is the day they’ll finally reach the capital.

Ever since the war started he’s been longing for this day, a deep pull inside of him, aching and pulsing, rising like the waves at inopportune times. He’s learned to live with it, has kept a hold on the memory of Even with an iron-tight grip, let himself dwell on it when he was finally able to rest. But he doesn’t really remember what Even’s laugh sounds like anymore, or the texture of his hair, or how he smells all sleep-soft and happy.

It’s been too long.

He sighs, tries to disperse those thoughts, tries to replace them with how he’s going to know soon. How Even is waiting for him to come home.

There’s a stack of letters next to his makeshift bed, neatly piled even though he read them before going to sleep. Like he always does. And excitement bubbles inside of him and fills him anew, just thinking of Even as he picks them up, strokes along the fine letters until he finally puts them away, hidden in his saddle bag.

He can’t wait to touch him. To kiss him. To feel how his arms reach around him now that months of fighting and eating lightly has changed him. Can’t wait to fall asleep next to him, hear his steady breaths in his ear.

The basin the servants have left for him to wash up in is thankfully ice-free, as it has been for the last few weeks. He doesn’t hurry quite as much washing up as he normally would even though the water is very cold. He idly wonders how he looks and can’t decide if he’s happy or not that he doesn’t have a mirror. He knows his beard is unkept, knows his hair is too long for Bergwergian standards, gathered in a braid as he used to when fighting other wars, but he doesn’t have time or energy to do anything about it now. He makes sure he’s as clean as possible so he’s at least presentable to the queen and his husband and doesn’t return what’s left of the army to them with mud in his beard and on his face.

He even changes into something marginally cleaner than what he’s been wearing this last month, since they got word that Queen Sara had surrendered.

Before he leaves the comfort of his tent he runs a finger along the ribbon on his wrist. It’s barely blue anymore, dirty with things he doesn’t want to think about, but he’s worn it every day since Even gave it to him. There’s a surety in it, a promise. He belongs to someone and they belong to him, and looking at that ribbon has brought him more comfort than he cares to admit during these months away.

But they’re not home yet, there are still things to be done, still wounded men to check up on, prisoners to keep in check, and they’re all tired and weary. Homesick. But even without leaving the tent he can feel it buzzing through camp, the same excitement that’s building in him.

So he pushes the flap of the tent aside and leaves to get the last things done so they’ll end the day in their own beds.

\--||--

Isak isn’t sure what he expected, but he’s pretty sure this isn’t it.

Word of their arrival has clearly gotten ahead of them, the streets filled with people cheering loudly, smiling, there are happy faces everywhere they look. It’s a bit overwhelming, but Isak keeps his gaze steady, rides in the front next to Sana who’s smiling so hard her dimples are showing.

It’s hard to keep a straight face when met with all this delight.

When the first child is lifted up towards him by a parent, carrying a handful of coltsfoot flowers, Isak accepts surprised, almost sure that the parent must’ve made a mistake. He still remembers the hesitant, silent reception that day of his arrival in Bergway, how everybody had seemed scared of him. And even if that fear seemed to abate while he was living in the castle, it never seemed to go away. But there’s no fear in the eyes of the child, he looks ecstatic when Isak takes the flowers from him, and Isak smiles, says “Thank you,” automatically to the boy’s obvious joy.

He looks over at Sana, who’s looking back at him with soft eyes and a crooked smile which he can’t help but return.

When he looks back at the people lining the streets, the next child is already stretched out towards him and he accepts another handful of flowers. And then it just keeps happening.

He’s not the only one getting flowers, there are handfuls handed to every man and woman in the procession, but it’s clear that he’s getting most. People are even shouting his name as he passes them, proudly, reverently. Isak is amazed. He hadn’t counted on the fact that the people’s opinion of him would change, hadn’t even thought of it.

It was his duty to fight for them, and he’d done so gladly.

Another handful of flowers is passed to him and he doesn’t fight the laugh that bubbles out of him, mirrored in the girl handing him the flowers.

It’s good to be home.

\--||--

It’s slow going, the streets are filled with people and it seems that every single one of them have brought them flowers. It takes a long time to reach the castle, and it’s almost impossible for Isak to sit still on his horse, to not kick it into a gallop so he can speed it up.

As soon as he enters the courtyard he sees him.

Even.

Like a ray of sun that hits him and makes it hard to see. He flushes from head to toe, back going straighter, eyes fixed to that spot on the top of the stairs where he’s standing next to his sister.

Isak’s never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He truly is a sight for sore eyes, that expression has never been more fitting. He’s wearing Bergway-blue, from head to toe, in a suit that looks like he was poured into it. His hair is just as high as Isak remembers and even from a distance, Isak can see that he’s smiling.

It’s impossible to ignore the excitement and longing in him. He kicks the horse, rides the short distance across the courtyard as fast as possible, already jumping off before the horse has come to a stop. He runs up the stairs, eyes locked on Even who’s started to descend and every step gets them closer and closer until they meet in the middle.

They fall into each other’s arms, meets lips and chest first, then arms, and then the rest of their bodies collide. That first kiss can be felt everywhere, makes his toes curl and a small whine build somewhere in his chest. His hands are fisted in Even’s pristine coat, crumpling the fine fabric, and not caring one bit as he tastes Even’s tongue and mouth, feels his soft lips against his, hears his pleased rumble against his chest.

He’s home. He’s finally home.

\--||--

Isak is so relaxed. For the first time in what feels like forever, he’s finally able to.

He’s soaking in a bath, the water surrounding him warm and fragrant. Even is sitting at the foot of the bath, watching Isak methodically get scrubbed by one of the servants. He’s been dirty for a long time, almost can’t remember what it’s like to be clean. The steady swipe of a cloth over his skin, rub-rub-dip, rub-rub-dip, warm water cascading down his arm as the servant finds a particularly stubborn piece of filth there, it’s enough to lull him into near sleep.

He watches the servant clean his nails with a distant, lazy interest. Not that it’s particularly interesting, but it’s a distraction, a way to keep his eyes off Even and the hungry look in his eyes. Every time Isak looks at him, it’s to see his entire focus directed to some new part of his body, like he’s taking him in in increments, one body part at the time, like he’s just as overwhelmed as him.

Isak doesn’t want to get hard in front of the servant.

And every time he lingers on Even, revels in how near they finally are, how he could reach out and touch him if he wanted to, it’s almost impossible to control that part of himself. He’s desperate to get Even alone, to do all those things with him that he’s fantasized about for so long.

But on the other hand, he can’t help the nerves that threaten to break through. He’s tired and sore and weary, strung out with war and the atrocities he did in the name of the kingdom. It’s easy for his mind to forgive himself for doing the things he had to to survive, but his heart is heavy. He knows it will take that part of him longer to come to terms with what happened, the things he’s done.

He’s spent night after night dreaming of this moment, of finally being home. Being next to Even. And now that he’s here, he’s not sure how to move forward, how to even touch Even, let alone kiss him or take him to bed.

With the way Even looks at him, there’s no doubt that that’s what he expects to happen tonight too.

It’s taken them forever to get to this point, he’s gone from meeting to meeting, getting debriefed, listing their prisoners, sharing with the queen and her counselors the thoughts he’s had of how they could be used in future negotiations with Queen Sara. Even has been by his side for most of it, always within reach, a comfort that Isak desperately needed, even more so than he thought he did. 

Rub-rub-dip, the other hand, his nails getting clean, rub-rub-dip, he leans forward and the servant scrubs his shoulders, down his back. Isak winces, pulls back when the cloth pulls at a newly healed wound. The servant apologizes and is more careful with the rest of his back. By the time he reaches his hair, starts lathering up the soap to rub it in his hair, a warmth is spreading through his body from Even’s heavy scrutiny.

Isak’s still not looking at Even, but it’s very clear that Even is looking at him. He can feel it, can feel how his gaze sweeps over him featherlight, like a warm weight that makes his skin react. While Isak has his eyes closed, leaning his head back for the first rinse of his hair, before the servant lathers the soap again for another wash, Even takes advantage.

At the small, barely audible, groan, Isak strains his ears, that sound is almost impossible to ignore. It sparks an embering fire that threatens to turn into more with every second passing. He lifts a now clean foot, pushes at Even’s arm that’s resting on the side of the bath, whispers, “Stop it,” with a smile on his face.

Fingers slide over the arch of his ankle, long, so long, delicate in how they rest there. Like a caress, more than a hold. His body reacts immediately, shivers break out over his skin starting in his ankle and spreading throughout the rest of the body in no time until he’s barely holding himself together.

_ Don’t get hard, don’t get hard, don’t get hard, _ he thinks, but he knows he’s fighting a losing battle.

As soon as the servant lowers the jug of water, putting it to the side indicating that he’s done with Isak’s hair, Isak opens his eyes. He blinks the water away and as soon as he’s able to he finds Even. Even looks so delicious sitting there, and it doesn’t matter how tired he is or how achy, he just really wants to be alone with Even right now.

He doesn’t look at the servant as he addresses him, keeps his eyes on Even as he speaks. “How long until you’re done?”

The servant wrings up the cloth. “You are clean, Your Highness. Unless you wish for me to cut the beard and hair, sir?”

Isak raises an eyebrow at Even, lets him decide how presentable he thinks he is.

Even shakes his head minutely, looks at Isak’s beard with an interest that Isak  _ has  _ to find a way to ignore, as he answers, “No, that’s fine. Maybe tomorrow. Thank you.”

The servant gets up but stays, ready to help Isak get up from the bath, help him into his clothes.

“I’ll take it from here,” Even says standing up, barely looking at the servant either as he does, his eyes never straying far from Isak. “You can leave us.”

The servant bows before leaving and when the door closes behind him, silence follows.

It stretches between them, grows poignant, heavy, so many things that need to be said, that wants to be said, except nothing is. Like they’re both waiting for the other to start, or are perhaps scared of saying the wrong thing.

It’s the first time since Isak got back that they’ve been alone. 

It’s almost overwhelming, after having dreamed and longed for this moment for months, to finally live it. Maybe Even feels the same. He just stands there, by the foot of the bath, staring at Isak, at his wrist, at his chest, at his neck, pausing at his dick, before his eyes return to his wrist.

“You’re still wearing it.”

Isak lifts his hand out of the murky water, the ribbon even more discolored from being soaked, and he runs his fingers over it, like a reflex, like he always does when he notices it on his wrist. A habit he’s been cultivating while he’s been away.

“Yes. Of course.”

He watches Even’s adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard, notices how his hands shiver slightly, and he realizes just how nervous Even must be as well. So Isak takes charge, removes the responsibility to carry this conversation from Even’s shoulders. He stands up, gingerly and slowly, water running down his body in rivulets, doesn’t care to hide his body from Even. Not anymore. He lets Even look, lets him see all the new scars, the freshly healed wounds, how he’s lost weight but filled out in other places. His body has been his tool these last months, an instrument for war and pain, and now he lets Even see just how that has changed him.

And maybe there’s a challenge in there too, maybe he wants to see how Even reacts, if he’s still just as attracted to Isak as he was when he left. When he said that his scars didn’t matter, when he showed him just how much he wanted him anyway.

He stays in the bath, water high enough to cover his legs from the knee down, body starting to shake from the cold air after being cocooned in warmth for so long, but still he stays.

“Isak,” Even croaks, voice wet and heavy. “You’ve changed so much.”

Isak forces himself to stand still, forces himself to keep looking at Even, even though all he wants to do is crumble, to lie down and let the water conceal him again.

“Too much?” Isak barely breathes as he waits for Even’s answer, but thankfully he doesn’t have to wait long.

“No!” Even takes a step closer like he can’t help himself. “No. But it’s a good reminder of how hard you worked for our safety while I was… uselessly stuck here.”

He picks up the robe for Isak to take when Isak steps out of the bath. It’s soft and warm and feels a million times better than anything else he’s had against his skin lately.

“I’m glad you were.”

“You don’t care that I’m useless?”

“You’re not useless. The things you and your sister did here are important too. Without you, we would never have gotten the admissions we did at Finnia’s surrender.” Isak takes a step closer to Even, close enough that he could touch if he wanted to, and he does, he desperately does, so he reaches out and takes Even’s hand as he continues. “And I’m glad you were here because I wouldn’t have been a very good soldier if I thought you were in danger.”

Even swallows hard again, eyes turning wet as they linger on their entwined hands, follows the length of Isak’s arm to his shoulder, to his neck, before they finally find Isak’s eyes. It’s like a caress, Isak’s entire body coming alive under that scrutiny. He squeezes Even’s hand and takes another step closer because he  _ has  _ to.

“I’ve thought about you so much,” he admits low and intimate, watches how his words make Even shiver.

“Oh God, me too. At times it felt like I would go mad from how much.”

Isak pulls him in now, uses the grip he has on Even’s hand to get him close until he can finally wrap his arms around him and bury his face in his neck. He stays there, breathes Even in, closes his eyes when that fragrant, warm scent that’s all Even hits him and makes him weak in the knees.

He’s starting to shake. He knows what this is, knows that this is what happens. His body finally shutting down after months of being constantly alert and he can barely keep standing, leans harder and harder against Even as his mind starts slipping even though he’s still standing.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Even whispers, voice filled with a fondness that Isak didn’t dare believe he would ever get to experience again.

He lets Even guide him, lets him remove the robe and help him down onto the bed, and Isak is barely awake when he feels Even slide into place behind him, lying close with his arms around Isak, protecting him and keeping him safe, and he doesn’t even notice the blankets pulled up around them before he’s asleep.

He wakes up with a start, cold sweat covering his skin, heart beating away in his chest.

It takes him a few long seconds to understand that the darkness isn’t threatening, that he isn’t lying in his tent and that he isn’t at the frontline.

It’s not until he notices the warmth plastered against his back, the arm resting by his waist, that he knows where he is. He breathes in, everything smells so clean and good here, and he lets that slowly calm him.

The sweat covering him is starting to heat between his and Even’s bodies, and when he shifts they slide against each other, making him very aware of the hard length pressing against his backside.

He lies still for a long moment, just feeling it pulse against his skin, letting the feel of it awake other kinds of desires in him. He can’t believe he just fell asleep last night, can’t believe he didn’t take advantage of finally being home. That he missed a chance of holding Even tight and kissing him everywhere, putting his fingers and tongue and dick inside of him, watching him fall apart under him. Just like he’s dreamed of, just like he’s wished for.

Isak shifts, arches his back and Even’s dick slides into place between his cheeks. He sighs, grinds against the hard length, enjoys the slide against his crack, how his body lights up with sensations he’d almost forgotten. He stills when Even moans behind him, when his grip on Isak tightens and his lips come to rest on Isak’s shoulder.

“You’re awake?” Isak whispers, moving his hips again, and he knows that Even is when his hand flattens against his chest.

Even kisses Isak’s shoulder, lips sliding over Isak’s skin leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. His voice sounds rough and sleep-soft when he answers, “Yeah.”

“Good,” Isak moans as he grinds again, this time with more purpose.

He moves against Even, lets pleasure find its way into the dark places inside of him, lets it slowly light him up until he’s so hard he’s dripping into the sheets under him.

Sweet, delicious sounds pour out of Even, his kisses on Isak’s back and shoulder are turning more and more heated with how hard he’s breathing as well, and Isak closes his eyes and lets himself get a bit lost in the feeling.

“Turn over, I want to see you,” Even says, and starts pulling at Isak.

Without thinking about it, Isak stills him with a strong hand on his arm and that moment of peace shatters. He’s filled with dread, sweat turning cold on his skin again as he contemplates being that vulnerable with Even. He wants to be, wants to feel taken care of, safe and loved, he just can’t…. be looked at it during.

“I don’t--” He closes his eyes, ready for Even to demand an explanation, ready to be pushed away.

But he should’ve known better because Even stops pulling at him, instead just wraps his arm around Isak tight, shushes him. Like he understands  _ exactly  _ what Isak can’t say.

“This is good too,” he whispers and Isak could cry with relief.

He grinds his hips again, and then once more, body heating up again fast and he turns his head seeking Even’s lips. It’s not a good fit, their lips are barely meeting from the angle, but it’s just what he needs. Even breathes into his mouth, so alive and good, Isak shivers with need.

He wants more, he wants Even to show him, hold him.

“Do you have the oil nearby?” he whispers, keeps his eyes shut as he does.

Even pauses a bit, kisses his cheek. “You sure?”

“Yes. I really need to feel you.”

“Alright,” Even says and pulls away for a long moment only to come back and wrap himself around Isak again, shifting until his dick nestles perfectly against Isak’s ass again. “Do you want me to get ready for you?”

“No, like this.”

He can hear the click of Even’s throat as he swallows, can feel the slight shiver in the hand on his waist, as Even repeats him. “Like this?”

Isak doesn’t know how to explain what it is exactly he needs from Even, what makes him want to do it like this. He’s dreamt of looking into Even’s eyes as he pushes inside, but right now, this moment, that’s not what he needs or wants.

“I want to feel you.”

“Isak,” Even breathes against his cheek, kisses him there, grinds against him almost like an afterthought. “I’ll take care of you, husband. I promise, I’ll make you feel good.”

Isak clenches his eyes as they start to burn, forces the words over his lips “You already do,” and feels raw and too open saying them.

Even coos, shushes him again, strong, big hands running over his skin, keeping him together. Lips pushing against his cheek until Isak gives in and turns his head, and then Even’s lips slide over his, softly, a barely-there touch that makes Isak’s heart swell inside his chest, makes it easy to push away those thoughts banging around inside his head.  _ You’re not worthy of this, you don’t deserve gentleness. _

Even feels so safe, like he already knows every part of Isak worth knowing and then some, and he makes it easier for Isak to focus on what Even’s doing. How he touches him, lingering, reverently, like Isak is something to worship.

Isak’s eyes burn again and he turns his head away from Even. It’s almost too much, with the way Even touches him, kisses him, surrounds him. It’s almost impossible to go from violence to  _ this _ , even though there’s nothing he wants more. The juxtaposition of it, of the kindness Even shows him coupled with the harshness of his thoughts makes him shiver, makes his skin crawl.

Even shushes him again, pushes him forward until Isak’s lying on his stomach, hands on the mattress like he’s ready to push off at any second. He’s not sure why Even thinks this is a good idea, how holding him down is something that Isak could even want at this point, but when Even lies down on top of him, covers him with his body, pushes him down into the mattress with all his weight, Isak finds that it’s exactly what he needs.

The frantic beating of his heart slows down, the tension he’s carried in his body for longer than he cares to remember slowly seeps away, and by the time Even’s breathing is loud in his ear and he’s covering every centimeter of Isak’s skin with his body, Isak just melts into the mattress on a long, relieved exhale.

Strong hands cover his, fingers push between his until Isak opens up and their fingers entwine just as the rest of their bodies. There’s nothing else in the world but this, but Even’s weight grounding him to earth, to the present. The voices inside his head quiet and there’s no fight left in him. He just gives in.

Even’s lips slide over his nape, the only part of them moving, sending shivers down Isak’s spine and heating him up from within.

“I can’t believe you’re finally here with me again,” Even whispers into his skin. “It’s like a dream.”

Isak doesn’t answer, but this time he doesn’t hold back the tears burning his eyes, threatening to spill over any moment now. He lifts his hips, just a bit, just enough to make Even do what he wants him to, and Even complies beautifully.

Even moves immediately, still slow but with a purpose, lets go of Isak’s hand and from the corner of his eye, Isak watches him dip his fingers into the jar of oil. Even shifts and then his hand is sliding between them, making its way to Isak’s crack where he stops.

“Let me know if I’m not doing it right,” Even says, and that’s when Isak remembers that Even hasn’t really done this before.

He’s not sure how to answer, not sure he even could right now, but he doesn’t need to. Even pushes the first finger inside of him without further warning, and Isak clenches around the intrusion, but it feels good. It’s a good reminder that he can feel something other than pain. Even moves inside of him with that long perfect finger, lighting him up from within. There’s no hesitance to be found in the way he curls his finger, in how he pauses at Isak’s rim and pulls at it, and then adds another finger. Two is a lot, but they fill him just right, stretch him in all the right ways, make him wet and slippery inside. Every push has pleasure pooling thick in his gut, crackling up his spine as electricity, making him less and less relaxed against the bed.

Isak moans when Even rubs over that place inside of him that he knows has the potential to make him see stars. Even makes a responding sound at that, something soft and sweet, more sigh than moan, and Isak’s muscles tenses.

It’s so good, it’s already so good.

Even readies Isak for him, pulls Isak more and more out of his head and into his body, which is a good place to be right now. All that delicious tension builds and builds until he can’t lie still anymore, until his hips thrust shallowly into the mattress and then back against Even’s fingers.

“Are you ready now?” Even’s voice sounds so rough, lower than normal, shaking and full of something that Isak would gladly give him. Whatever Even asks for, Isak wants him to have, there’s nothing he can’t take.

He’s still not sure there are words in him to be able to say what he wants to say to Even, so instead he just nods. And then there’s a shift as Even pulls his hips back and takes his fingers out of Isak. Isak mourns the loss, but watches intently as Even dips his fingers once again in the vial, drenches them in oil before his hand disappears between them.

Isak rubs his forehead against the sheet under him, excited and impatient and nervous about what comes next. He’s never wanted anything more in his life, and he’s fighting how the desperation for Even to fill him is creeping up on him.

Even shifts again, only this time it’s not to move away, this time it’s to get closer and Isak eagerly spreads his legs for him. As soon as he feels that blunt pressure against his hole, he bears down, arches his back, does everything in his power to get Even inside quickly, and he does. In one long glorious slide he pushes all the way inside, makes room for himself inside Isak like he’s always fitted there. Like he knows that Isak has room for him.

It’s overwhelming in the best of ways, steals his breath, steals his senses, everything in him, all that he is, focused on that tight place that’s moulding to Even’s intrusion. When Even bottoms out, when his hips are resting against Isak’s ass, Isak marvels at just how perfectly they fit together.

Nothing hurts, there’s only that slight burn that Isak revels in, just this deep throb of desire spreading in him, an itch that Even has just started to scratch. Isak gives into the desperation, gives into that voice inside his head that’s screaming for more, and moves his hips to grind up against Even.

The sound of Even’s rough exhale ignites something inside of Isak, makes it impossible for him to stay still and he starts rolling his hips up, trying to get Even deeper inside of him.

Even starts moving with him immediately with long, languid rolls of his body that make him touch Isak almost all over at once and every point of contact feels electric, adds to the fire growing inside of Isak. He whines, a high-pitched, reckless sound from deep inside of him and Even groans in return, a rumble that Isak can feel reverberate through him until it settles inside his chest, wraps around his heart until it’s beating a frantic tattoo against his ribs.

His skin is so, so sensitive, hair standing on edge, his toes curling into the mattress trying to find some leverage to push back against Even, but it’s hard with how Even is still covering him. Even’s short, staccato breaths wash over the skin of his jaw, cooling him, making him even more on edge. His skin is growing wet with sweat, slicking the movements between them, collecting in his nape, at his hairline, until there’s so much it starts to drip down into the sheet under him.

Even pulls out a bit, only to immediately push back inside, small shallow thrusts that threaten to make Isak beg for more. He arches his back until it hurts, lifts his hips and ass, wants Even deeper and deeper, wants more and more and  _ more _ . He wants everything Even has to give, and then some.

“Fuck,” Even mutters, the exclamation abrupt enough that it makes Isak’s hair move and he whines again, long and desperate, wrung-out and lost, letting Even piece him back together.

Even speeds up in increments, moving deeper inside Isak with every thrust, every nerve inside him firing, the pleasure so great it threatens to overwhelm him. Just from this, just from Even covering him, surrounding him, filling him up so good with his perfect dick. The movement of their hips rubs Isak’s dick against the blanket over and over again and it’s good, God, it’s so good, but it’s just not enough.

Even mouths at Isak’s jaw, licks at the sweat collected there, mumbling something that Isak can’t quite comprehend. The closer Even gets to his mouth, the more Isak wants to hide, the more he wants to turn his head, close his eyes, hide from the world. Hide from Even. And he almost does, almost gives into that desire until Even whispers, “I wish I could see you.”

And Isak shatters.

He stops moving, tears finally falling from his eyes, hand moving to cover them so Even won’t notice. 

“No, what happened? Isak--?” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Isak,” Even breathes, his voice full of pain and confusion and Isak can’t believe he ruined this moment between them. It’s not until Even speaks again that Isak realizes that it isn’t Even’s pain his words were painted with. “Love, don’t be sorry. Please. You’re allowed to cry. I’m sorry if this was too much.” He breathes a couple of times and then says, “I’m sorry if I pushed you.”

“No!” Isak squirms until Even pulls out of him and Isak can turn around in his arms. “You didn’t push. This isn’t because of you. It’s me. I’m all wrong.”

Between one breath and the next Isak is completely encompassed in Even’s arms, pulled so tight against him that he’s not sure he could take a deep breath even if he wanted to. Except he doesn’t. He wants  _ this, _ wants to feel this closeness, the knowledge that Even feels like he can’t get close enough either.

“You’re not wrong. Oh, my love. You’re not wrong.”

There’s so much tenderness in Even’s words, in the way he holds him, in the way his body fits with his. It surprises Isak, in a way that makes him wonder if it will ever really stop surprising him. This knowledge that Even so obviously cares for him. That it doesn’t matter to Even what Isak’s done and what others say about him. That he somehow sees something of worth in Isak, that nobody has ever seen before.

So Isak lets Even see. Blinks at the tears burning his eyes and lets them fall. Looks up into Even’s eyes and shows all the ugliness and the pain that he’s keeping inside.

Even gently wipes at his tears, keeps holding him close and doesn’t push him away. Just stays, patiently, watching Isak crumble, succumb to the grief and the hurt inside of him.

“You’re perfect. To me, you are perfect. You’re so brave, Isak. So, so brave,” he whispers into the space between them. Keeps wiping Isak’s tears away as they fall. Stays. “I’ve never met anybody like you, and I thank God each and every day that I did. That you came back to me.”

Isak holds onto Even tightly, needs it to ground him or he’s afraid that Even’s words would make him fly away. There’s no doubt that Even means them, no doubt that these are his truths and it amazes Isak. He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this, to deserve Even, but he knows that now that he has him, he’ll never let him go.

“I love you,” he croaks out, voice tear-heavy and rough, hopes that with those three words he can show Even  _ his  _ truth.

“Isak.” Even leans down, kisses him once, then twice, pulls him close. “I love you too.”

It doesn’t matter that he’s wet with tears, doesn’t matter that his nose is running, he just needs to get his lips back on Even, taste those words in his mouth. He sighs when they meet in a bruising kiss, Even’s tongue stroking into his mouth, licking against the roof of his mouth, opening him up until there’s nothing else to do but shift his body and open up for him once again. He spreads his legs, hitches his thighs high and tilts his hips until Even slides into place, finds his way back inside of him.

This time, they move like a unit, like they’ve done this a million times and know each other in and out. Even’s thrusts get him so deep inside Isak that he can barely breathe from it, but he just opens up even more, hitches his legs higher and higher until the stretch becomes unbearable, until his joints protest and the familiar aches reappear.

He holds onto Even, latches on to him, lets him breach him with his tongue and his dick as they move in unison, Isak’s movements the perfect counterpoints to Even’s thrusts. The pleasure builds between them, spiraling higher and higher and higher, Isak’s toes curling against the hair on Even’s thighs. He grabs onto Even’s ass, urges him on, lets his body show him just how much he wants this, wants him. Wants them.

Just as Even does the same.

Every move, every touch, every kiss all convey the same thing. There’s no room for doubt with the way Even’s body worships him, the way Even fills him until there’s no room left for intrusive thoughts or pain. Isak’s entire world narrows down to this, to Even moving inside of him, to their sounds filling the room and the smell of their combined need. There is only this.

It’s easy to let himself go.

He throws his head back, moans as Even uses that to kiss down the length of his throat, to lick at his clavicle. Isak is overcome, there’s so much sensation he’s drowning in it, and every push inside him just gets him closer to the inevitable end.

Even’s hand finds its way into his hair. He grabs onto it, tilts his head back so their mouths rejoin, and when Even pulls back a bit Isak finally opens his eyes again.

He groans when he looks at Even. It’s dark except from the soft light of the moon shining through the windows, but he can still see Even. See the way he looks at him, soft and loving, see the way his lips are puffy and used, see the way his hair is stuck to his forehead from sweat and Isak thinks,  _ I did that _ and feels proud.

Even speeds up, his thrusts turning more erratic, harder, small jabs rubbing Isak’s insides deliciously until the deep throb of his balls makes him pull a hand off Even to get it between them. He moans loudly when he gets his hand on his own dick, starts stroking himself immediately, tries to follow the rhythm Even sets, but it’s hard when all he wants is to let go. He’s so close now, dick pulsing with every stroke, precome dripping down his length making the slide easy.

He hasn’t even noticed that he’s closed his eyes again until Even surprises him by putting his hand over Isak’s, helping him as he strokes himself off. He opens his eyes, looks right up into Even’s eyes as they stroke together. Even’s dick works its magic inside of him, and when Even leans down to kiss him once more, Isak finally lets go. Every muscle in his body tightens as he spills between them, moans spilling from his lips as his orgasm hits at the base of his spine and rushes upwards making small explosions go off all over his skin, filling him with so much pleasure that he throws his head back and howls it out into the room. 

Even keeps thrusting, works Isak through it, milks Isak for every last drop of seed until Isak is dripping with it, until he’s strung out to the point of exhaustion, until Isak’s balls start to object with emptiness, and only then does Even pull out.

He rises to his knees, leans in over Isak, the movement of his arm clearly indicating what he’s doing. Isak lies there, too exhausted for anything else, legs still spread to the sides, covered in seed with his deflating dick resting on his thigh. But despite the exhaustion that threatens to take him over, he still manages to look down, wants to see Even work himself to completion. Isak is mezmerised to how good a sight it is, watching Even’s glistening dick disappear and reappear in Even’s tight fist. He looks so close, has done so well so Isak uses the last strength in his body to pull Even down for a filthy kiss and he moans alongside Even when he feels him add to the mess between them, long ropes of seed landing on his chest and stomach, mixing with his.

Even pants into his mouth as he works himself dry and it’s so mind-bogglingly hot that Isak’s dick twitches on his thigh even though he’s too spend for it to matter.

And then Even collapses on top of him.

They lie there together, catching their breaths, slowly cooling off and coming down. Isak is wrapped around Even, arms holding onto him tight, face turned so his lips are resting against Even’s jaw, just under his ear.

Even smells so good, like sweat and sex and  _ them. _ Isak could just stay here forever, breathing him in, feeling his weight on top of him. He wouldn’t need anything else, as long as Even is here, close, always close.

He kisses Even, a soft peck that’s in stark contrast to what they just did, too sweet for someone covered in seed.

“Thank you,” he whispers straight into Even’s ear, willing him to understand.

He’s not just saying thank you for the spectacular sex, there are so many other things for him to be grateful for. For Even giving him a home, a place to belong. For loving him. Millions of other reasons, but he doesn’t have words to accurately tell Even all the things he wants to. So he settles for those two words, hopes they convey enough that he’ll understand.

And maybe they do because he feels Even smile against him, hears the click of his throat as he swallows. “Oh god. How did I manage all these months without you?” he laughs.

The way Even’s body moves on top of him as he does is electric, the laugh so infectious that Isak can’t help but laugh too. There’s happiness in this, in laughing together. It feels cathartic and enables Isak to settle back into his body to relax even more.

Even pulls back to look at his smile, his own turning crooked and soft as he does.

“I love seeing you smile.”

“Better get used to it, I plan to do it a lot more in the time to come. “

“Good. I like the sound of that,” Even says, brushes softly over his cheekbone, pushes a sweaty curl away from his forehead before he leans in and nuzzles his nose against Isak. “I plan to be there for all of them from now on.”

And it should be too much, but somehow it’s just right. In this place, this space they’ve carved out for themselves in the universe.

“Good. I like the sound of that,” Isak echoes and feels the truth of those words in every bone of his body.

It doesn’t matter what comes next. Not really. There’s no room for worries or for insecurities in this small place between them.

For now, this is enough.

And he has a feeling it always will be.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your support, you guys are awesome and you've made posting this such a great experience. Just... thank you! <3
> 
> The epilogue will be posted Wednesday, exactly 12 weeks after I started posting this on my 2-year fic anniversary. See you then! And don't forget to tell me what you thought of this chapter. ;)


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for giving my anniversary fic so much attention, you guys are seriously the best. <3
> 
> For the last time, I want to thank H and Immy for all their hard work, cheerleading, and betaing. You guys are the reason this fic is done and out in the world. <3
> 
> Enjoy this epilogue, my friends! See you on the other side. :)

There’s a taste of salt in the air, but this time it doesn’t feel intrusive. There’s that hint of seaweed mixed in there that more than anything tells Isak that he’s back.

It’s always weird coming back to the place one grew up, the place that used to be one’s home but isn’t really anymore. He feels like a stranger in Dragonholm Castle, although a stranger that knows all the nooks and crannies of the old building. He’s enjoyed showing Even around, even enjoyed having him finally meet his parents.

He fists the sand, watches as it runs through his fingers, creating a small hill under him. There’s a familiarity to the texture of the sand, its coarseness and graininess that he hasn’t found anywhere else, but it’s not enough to make him miss it. So much has changed since he played on these beaches as a kid, but he’s too happy where he is to wish for change.

Even is sitting between his legs, looking out over the ocean, hands on Isak’s legs. His nose is turning red from the sun, and Isak can feel his own skin starting to throb as well, but he’s too comfortable to do anything about it just yet.

“It’s so beautiful here,” Even says. Turns his head as he continues. “But so flat.”

“Well, we can’t all be surrounded by mountains,” Isak laughs and pulls Even back into his chest. He settles there and they both stare over the ocean, Even wrapped in Isak’s arms.

“It was a beautiful wedding,” Even says and Isak hums in agreement.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Jonas that happy before.”

“He and Princess Eva make such a lovely couple. I’m sure they’ll be happy together.”

“Yeah,” Isak agrees and kisses Even’s hair, rubs his cheek over it softly, enjoys how Even smells here. All fragrant and like home.

“Apparently, not all arranged marriages are bad,” Even says, an uptick in his voice that Isak can’t help but notice.

He knows everything that makes up Even now, just as Even knows all of him. But he’ll never get enough of this, of this easy tenderness, the open affection. Even just makes everything so simple. It took some time for Isak to get used to it, to show Even his devotion without thinking about it first, without trying to figure out if he was too much or too little. It took time to learn that for Even there are no such things. Isak is allowed to be just as he is, no matter what that entails.

Isak never imagined that he would be able, allowed, to love like this. That he would  _ be  _ loved like this. But now, he wouldn’t want it any other way and he’s grateful for it every day of his life.

He tightens his grip on Even, puts his lips next to Even’s ear, at the place he knows will make Even shiver deliciously.

“No, not all arranged marriages are bad.” He kisses him gently there and seeks out more places to kiss within his reach. “Husband.”

Even’s lips find his now, eager and expected, and as so many times before Isak gives himself over to it. It’s easy to do so, he’s learned there’s so much happiness to be found in familiarity. He’s promised himself that he will remind Even of this every day for the rest of their lives.

For as long as they both shall live.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE END
> 
> *gently weeps* Thank you. Honestly. I'm so happy you're reading my fic and every last comment and kudos and hit has made me feel your love. I've enjoyed writing this for you guys so much, and you've really made this 2-year fic-anniversary feel like a celebration. <3
> 
> All the love to you guys!!! <3 <3 <3

**Author's Note:**

> I would be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous about how you’ll receive this as it’s a bit (read: very) different from what I normally write. So I really hope you guys enjoyed it and if you did, please don’t hesitate to leave me a kudos and/or a comment. I promise you, every single one will make me all *hearteyes*. :D
> 
> I’m [nofeartina](https://nofeartina.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! Come yell with me about how great Isak and Even are, and/or how you like this fic. :)
> 
> New chapters will be up every Monday, so hang tight. :)


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